


Written in the Stars

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Feels, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Space Husbands, old married spirk, spirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 67,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of space husbands short stories ranging from the five year mission to old married bliss. <3 Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was Always You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out my short stories! All of these have been posted to tumblr at some point since early 2014 and cover a whole range of subjects from the TOS era to Old Married Spirk. Please enjoy. <3
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter's work was Spirk in the rain. It deals with that moment when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone.
> 
> [This chapter has been translated into Chinese](http://lunalee1103.lofter.com/post/1e905147_d483e53) by Luna. Thank you so very much!!

**It Was Always You**

Jim suddenly began a slow turn that would take him in one full scenic circle, his black boots wet with moisture from shuffling about amid the overgrown grass he stood in. He drank in the sight of the tropical vegetation surrounding him everywhere, the luscious greens and other familiar earthen shades inspiring a spike of adrenaline to course through him.

After months of darkness in deep space and visiting foreign worlds which resembled nothing of nature as he knew it on Earth, Jim found himself standing in the middle of a place as flourishing and lively as the rainforests found at the Terran equator.

And that’s when he completed his graceful pivot, when time seemed to slow—when his eyes fell on Spock, and everything in Jim’s life came into perfect focus. It was a moment of sudden clarity gifted to him by the stark contrast of a blue uniform tunic against the backdrop of a natural palette. And instantly, Jim knew.

This was it. This was the nucleus of the entire universe, the single most important point: one beating verdant heart.

His lips were moving, his face angled to the tricorder he held before him, as the scientific blather of environmental readings spilled out clinically. Correctly, those observations weren’t senseless ramblings; they were neither irrelevant nor without importance, but Jim found himself unable to process them in the face of the epiphany that had opened his eyes to something he had known all along.

Spock was so out of place here, and so was he. The bright colors of their uniforms had no likeness at all to the world that encompassed them; alone, they would always stand out, offensively or eminently depending on the company. But standing together, there was purpose. Together, they became something that always belonged and always fit in, no matter what environment or situation they faced.

Jim had once thought the Enterprise was home, but realized that was wrong. Home was no one place; it was anywhere and everywhere, as long as Spock was at his side, and he was at Spock’s. All of those differences that had plagued them throughout their lives suddenly made no difference at all—the struggles of the past to be worthy of affection made trivial by one simple realization: this was where they both belonged.

“…the confirmation of class M planet readings taken aboard the Enterprise, most similar to the type of rainforest that existed in what was once called Central America.” Spock’s eyes wandered, his gaze finding Jim’s and he cocked his head out of interest or concern. Or both. “…Jim?”

Jim’s shoulders were rising and falling conspicuously; he was aware of that as he watched Spock begin to quickly close the space that separated them. Spock’s expression had hardened, indicating he was, indeed, perturbed by the lack of reply.

“Jim, are you all right?” he tried again mid-step, still clutching to his tricorder but no longer paying attention to it.

With his lips barely parted, Jim simply remained where he was. Despite all this natural beauty around them, all he could see was Spock and all Spock could see was him. And it was perfect.

There was a strange nostalgia in this situation, and it wasn’t lost to his memory. Jim had once realized a thing of great significance years ago—when a virus had run rampant aboard the Enterprise, and he found Spock coming undone in a briefing room. Standing before him and staring meaningfully into his dark eyes, Jim had become privy to something critical upon seeing the wet streaks left by tears on his very logical first officer’s face.

That was the moment when his heart first questioned if space and the Enterprise were all he was capable of letting in and committing to—when he asked if that was the only place he belonged. And now, some two and a half years later, as they stood on some distant world overgrown and thrumming with life, he realized the answer to that inquiry had always been obvious.

_This was it._

“Jim,” Spock repeated, his brows pulled in as he quickly arrived in front of him.

This, right before him.

Jim’s lips had parted and he simply shook his head quickly, attempting to formulate a string of coherent words that would describe everything running through his mind. His breaths were drawn and expelled heavily as he searched Spock’s face, and just as he was about to speak, a droplet landed on his cheek.

And then another in his hair. And another on his shoulder. And within a matter of seconds, the sky opened in a downpour against the golden rays of sunlight that graced the world, soaking everything in sight.

“Jim!” Spock shouted over the cacophony of rain battering down on them, as he squinted in attempt to keep eye contact. “Advise beaming up!”

It was a valid suggestion… a logical one. But he followed his instincts instead.

Jim’s hands shot out and took hold of Spock’s drenched shirt, roughly pulling him forward and crushing their lips together. His fists tightened in the dark blue material and he kissed Spock with the ardor of everything he felt, until they were driven apart by desperate heaves for air.

Their faces remained close, their breaths intermingled. Spock simply stared into Jim’s eyes, clearly distracted by the emotion he had received from their contact and totally uncaring of the rain that trailed down his face. The tricorder that he still gripped tightly was dropped, abandoned to dangle at his hip by the strap.

Spock’s hands immediately lifted, his digits entwining with Jim’s sopping wet hair, and their lips collided again—no mind paid to the rain, to the mission, to the sound of their communicators being hailed.

Together, they became something that always belonged and always fit in.

_This is it. And it was always you._

  
This beautiful art is by [hanasheralhaminail](https://hanasheralhaminail.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much!!  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3333
> 
> In the event that you're following my other ficlet collection, [Between Our Hands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1893771/chapters/4081164), I'm still planning to update it. Every chapter takes some time to post however, because an intro and outro need to be written for each. This collection allows me to simply post without the extra work. :D Overlap between the two will definitely occur, but Between Our Hands will have more to it since it's a relationship study.
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/TOSCaptainKirk) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


	2. Putting It Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: McCoy finally understands. Written for this prompt: That touching thing, where Spock touches Jim to anchor himself, reassure himself when he’s unsure, etc.

**Putting It Together**

 

A heavy and uncomfortable silence had loomed in the cavern for too long, the low crackling of the fire neglected as it cast its warm glow on the rocky walls.

“He’ll be all right when he wakes up,” McCoy offered suddenly, standing beside Spock and peering down at their unconscious captain. Jim had been laid out in a soft bed that the villagers handmade from hide and linen, and then covered by a large fur blanket. His expression was serene and nearly juvenile, defying the expected image of a man who nearly lost his life to a toxic venom.

“The antidote worked. He just needs to sleep off the sedative I gave him.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied with a slight lift in his brows, the uncharacteristic hint of softness in his voice pulling McCoy’s blue eyes to him. They barely squinted, momentarily studying the sharpness of Spock’s profile, before his shoulders dropped and he lifted a hand to rub through his thick brown hair.

It was incredibly ironic to think that _he_ was the one who often told Spock to embrace his human side, to give into a little emotionalism now and then. But now, hearing only the slightest change in that ever cool and collected tone had left McCoy strangely unsettled.

He told himself that it was brought on from the stressful turn of this mission. But deep down, McCoy knew his unease was attributable to the very subtle and yet not insignificant shift in Spock’s demeanor; honestly, he had no idea how to act around him without the constant banter they shared—no idea how to actually comfort Spock, if he was indeed expressing the need for it. McCoy couldn’t even tell.

Realizing that, he instantly felt stripped and sized down. He began to question the nature of the friendship that had grown between them (was it _really_ all just about petty arguments?), and his identity as a doctor. McCoy was an expert in psychology, after all, and yet he had never been able to figure Spock out.

But Jim had, since the very first day. Jim never experienced any issue with breaking through that icy Vulcan exterior in a way that wasn’t damaging, and McCoy suddenly felt very inadequate for being incapable of doing the same. Especially if Spock needed someone to lean on now; it wasn’t easy nearly losing a friend, after all.

Or, perhaps, McCoy was simply reading too deeply into this entire situation and making waves on a calm ocean. Either way, someone had to make the first move, or they would surely be standing here for hours until Jim’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, uh, listen, Spock,” McCoy’s voice dropped to a quieter tone as he searched the space around them awkwardly, focusing on the other two beds that were laid out a short distance away. “I really think it’d be best if we got some sleep. Jim’s not waking up anytime soon. Why don’t you go on and lie down?”

Spock’s chin simply fell in one nod to acknowledge the suggestion, but he made no further movements; he remained where he stood, statue-like and studying the captain’s face. It was as if he was waiting in anticipation for an opportunity that never presented itself. To do what, however, McCoy had no idea.

McCoy considered placing a hand on one of those broad Vulcan shoulders for reassurance—the way he’d observed Jim do many times in the past; however, a feeling of intrusion held him back.

Vulcans didn’t like to be touched, and yet Spock never seemed to mind when Jim’s hand found its way to him. McCoy wasn’t Jim, though, and his intuition told him that his own stiff, clearly forced attempt to fill those shoes would actually cause more distress than calm. He decided against it.

With that, he quietly said, “Come on, Spock,” and turned, walking over to one of the beds on the opposite side of the fire. Spock hesitated a moment longer, before he tore his eyes from Jim and wordlessly made his way to his own place.

Both of them slipped beneath the blankets laid out for them, maintaining the presence of silence. Thankful for Spock’s reticence for once, McCoy simply closed his eyes, knowing well that sleep wouldn’t find him for some time; his mind was in overdrive, filled with gratitude that Jim was still breathing, bewilderment at Spock’s cryptic behavior, perplexity as he struggled with the question if he would _ever_ figure either of them out. He wondered if anyone even could.

There was just something about those two—something more than what met the eye. McCoy had suspected for some time that they were messing around on the side; anyone able to see or hear would have had that suspicion. But it suddenly seemed much deeper than that, much more complicated and entwined than some casual hookup.

Something had affected Spock and McCoy couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Of course, he, himself, had been shaken by seeing Jim fighting for his life, but the danger was over and that was all the reassurance he needed. Spock seemed to remain so displaced, though—as if the confirmation that the antidote had worked wasn’t enough.

McCoy remained still beneath his blanket, keeping his eyes closed and musing on this.

~

It must have been an hour of insomnia later when McCoy’s ears picked up on the sound of Spock shifting around. He could hear the blanket being carefully peeled back, and very cautiously cracked one eye open.

His other opened, and he watched Spock’s lanky frame straightening out after he got to his feet. He reached behind him to pull the hem of his shirt down as he slowly drifted to Jim’s side, light as a breeze.

Wary to not alert Spock to the fact that he was actually awake, McCoy observed with interest. Spock stood stiffly in place before turning to a nearby bowl of water with a cloth next to it. He wet the material, quietly rung it out, and proceeded to dab at the dried blood on Jim’s face.

He brushed the fabric over Jim’s brow, across his forehead, and down the side of his far cheek with conspicuous tenderness. When Spock seemed satisfied, he folded the cloth and replaced it, and then turned back to Jim, smoothing out the golden hair that tumbled messily over his forehead.

Up until this point, McCoy could justify those actions; it wasn’t so far-fetched to want to clean the blood off an injured friend. Perhaps that’s what had been troubling Spock—McCoy’s eyes suddenly snapped shut as he saw Spock’s face beginning to turn in his direction. He waited a few moments before very slightly parting his lashes again.

Spock had turned back to Jim by then, and McCoy looked just in time to witness one slender Vulcan hand rise and relocate to the far side of Jim’s face. He seemed to stroke the supple skin there, before his digits arranged themselves in a very specific pattern. Spock’s eyes immediately closed.

‘ _A meld. By God!_ ’ McCoy exclaimed to himself. ‘ _What the hell is he doing?!_ ’

Just as McCoy was about to get to his feet and put a stop to this craziness, something stopped _him_ , instead. It was the sight of Spock’s rigid body relaxing instantly. Soon after, he let his hand slip away from Jim’s psi points, and stroked over his forehead one final time. Spock leaned in immediately after, his lips touching Jim’s for but an instant, and then completely withdrew.

He straightened himself out, pulled his tunic down again, and very quietly made his way back to his bed. McCoy could hear Spock slip in and carefully cover himself.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before those blue eyes opened once more—widely. He shifted his gaze over to where Spock lay, as if none of that had just happened. However, the tension had visibly melted away from his angular features and he looked at total peace.

McCoy’s mouth pulled taut, and he stared into the fire, the realization dawning on him. That wasn’t a hookup, or just benign flirting. That was… his brows pulled in and his eyes widened further. That was pure affection, if he’d ever seen it. And he couldn’t believe he had.

So. That was the answer to all the riddles.

~

Jim woke up several hours later, and was greeted with an immediate and passionately delivered rant about how he’d better be damned sure to be more careful in the future.

McCoy snapped, “For God’s sake, Jim, we almost _lost_ you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Bones,” Jim replied, wincing as he sat up and rubbed at the place where his chest injury was. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me do it again,” McCoy grumbled.

He watched as Jim’s eyes wandered up to Spock’s after, and his smile widened—brightened. And for the first time, McCoy understood why.

“Thank you too, Mister Spock,” he said in a sing-song tone.

“There is no need, Captain. I carried you here, but it was Doctor McCoy’s potion which saved your life.”

McCoy nearly rolled his eyes at that. He immediately retorted, “Maybe if you both stopped playing games with life, I wouldn’t need to inject either of you with anything. Believe me, I don’t enjoy it.”

“Doctor, I would argue that claim—”

“Shut up, Spock!” he barked, turning away as a small laugh fell from Jim’s lips.

When his face was out of sight, the corners of McCoy’s mouth twitched upwards. They were actually good together, those two. And now that he knew the deeper meaning behind their behavior towards each other, he had to watch himself, before it put him in a good mood or something.

McCoy bounced on his heels twice and ventured outside, his hands clasped behind his back.

Spock watched after him as he left. “Most curious. Though he exhibited signs of anger, I believe Doctor McCoy was smiling just now, Captain.”

Jim just grinned, his eyes softening in sympathy and moved his hand over the one Spock had subtly placed at his side on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know Spock wasn’t present at the time of the screencap I used to intro this piece, but I couldn’t resist Jim’s face there. <3


	3. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Takes place during The Journey to Babel, and deals with the manner in which Sarek and Amanda treat Spock. Jim isn’t pleased by that. Written for “rubbing noses” from the domesticity prompt.

**Acceptance**

The door to Spock’s quarters swished open without request for entry and Jim quickly strode into the low light and heat within. Spock was solemnly sitting at his desk and began to rise to his feet in an apparent attempt to offer apology, but Jim simply lifted his hand to deter it; he crossed the space so fast that he was soon close enough to place his palm against one boney shoulder and deliver a gentle shove.

Spock helplessly dropped back into his chair and Jim followed him down, his legs spreading as he straddled his first officer’s lap. Both hands raised to cup Spock’s face and their lips met in a kiss that conveyed all the words that had just gone unspoken.

Jim’s digits splayed carelessly over and beneath Spock’s ears, his palms holding both cheeks tenderly as he deepened the kiss until their mouths breathlessly parted. They both heaved for air when the contact was broken, and Jim’s forehead fell forward to press against Spock’s.

He nuzzled their brows and noses together, continuing to cradle Spock’s face. “They’re wrong,” Jim declared suddenly in a strong tone, his eyes opening. He pulled back just far enough so their gazes could meet. “They’re wrong,” he repeated, lessening the volume in his voice but not its firmness. “And don’t you think otherwise for a moment.”

Spock’s hands had latched to Jim’s hips at some point, and they now offered a soft squeeze. Two slanted brows raised. “Jim, they are my parents. They—“

“—don’t know you and they never have, Spock,” Jim interjected pointedly with a shake of his head. “They have no idea.”

Spock’s eyes fell and Jim finally released his face, replacing one hand against the back of his head and drawing him unto his chest. He began to stroke through the short black hair, gingerly petting it as he willed the resentment swelling inside of him to subside.

They _were_ Spock’s parents, after all, and Sarek the Vulcan ambassador. Jim couldn’t afford to harbor contempt for them. However, after seeing the two disapproving looks which sized their son down in all of two seconds, Jim knew right away that they were to blame for many of the wounds Spock lived with—damages that Jim had been trying to mend over the last few months.

“I would prefer another guide, Captain,” Sarek had said plainly after pulling his attention from Spock with disinterest; however, the iciness apparent in his features was lost on no one present in the hangar deck. That included Amanda, and she did nothing to ease the situation. In fact, her matching disposition added to the tension.

Jim was in no role to judge family discord. He had no quarrel with their behavior otherwise; in fact, the pair were quite pleasant and he found them to be interesting company. However, Jim would be damned before allowing their collective dismissive attitude to detrimentally affect Spock any further—regardless of why they felt the way they did.

Maybe someday, he would find out. But for now…

“I’m sorry,” Jim spoke suddenly and placed his hand on Spock’s forehead. He soothingly pushed back his neatly trimmed bangs and lowered his lips to plant a kiss on the exposed skin. “I’m so sorry they treated you that way.”

Spock’s chin lifted. “Jim, you misunderstand something.”

There was a pause as Jim studied him. He slipped his hand down to cup the back of Spock’s neck, massaging it with gentle circles drawn by his fingertips before he gently urged, “Then tell me.”

“The ambassador and his wife have never approved of me. This is not unknown to me, nor am I unaccustomed to it.”

It was impossible for Jim to hide the manner in which his face contorted at that remark. He knew he was wearing a mixed expression of consternation and disbelief. How could Spock simply utter an idea so horrendous, while keeping up the visage of being entirely unaffected?

…Except he most certainly was. Jim could see it in his eyes, and wondered if Spock was reading his feelings when he pulled them from his scrutiny.

“Spock,” he started quietly and then his lips closed, looking off to the side. A thought presented itself then. “Hey.”

Jim placed two fingers beneath Spock’s chin and lifted it, so that they were looking at each other again. “I want to promise you something, okay? I need you to know this. I have never and will never disapprove of you, no matter what decisions you make, as long as you make them for the good of yourself. I’ll always stand by you, just as you’ve done for me. Do you understand?”

Spock nodded once and then lowered his eyes. Jim knew this conversation was difficult and that it was probably easier to avoid it completely, but he couldn’t simply act like he’d seen nothing before.

“I think your parents are being unfair and it’s not only that,” he pressed on. “They’re missing out on so much, because they did damn well making a son admirable and intelligent enough—brave enough to pave his own way. You chose that instead of following a path that’s already been taken over and over. I love that about you, Spock.”

Spock’s head dropped forward even further, until his brows touched Jim’s shoulder.

“And if their arms aren’t open to you, I hope you know that these always will be. No matter what.”

Jim enveloped him tightly then, holding the back of his head and rubbing his cheek into his hair. He felt Spock’s hands slowly leave his hips and very carefully, very tentatively, trail up his sides and then cross behind him to return the embrace.

  
This beautiful art is by [hanasheralhaminail](https://hanasheralhaminail.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much!!  


Silence followed. Jim would demand nothing and make no attempt to pull forth the words that were welled up deep within Spock. From all the time they’d spent together, and after observing what had happened in the hangar, everything had finally come full circle.

This was why Spock was the way he was.

He could play it off with that apathetic demeanor of his, but he could never quite stop his eyes from telling Jim the entire story. Spock had gone eighteen years without speaking to either Sarek or Amanda. That was eighteen years of total rejection, of being unaccepted and convinced that he had disappointed them to a stage of no return… by simply being himself.

It would hurt anyone, and somewhere deep down, buried beneath layers and layers of logic and conditioning, it hurt Spock. And that was something Jim wouldn’t just simply stand for. He couldn’t mend the relationship with Sarek or Amanda, or even approach them with the issue. But he certainly could show Spock the compassion they hadn’t, and love him enough—not to make up for what was missing, but to make him feel whole without it.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “You haven’t eaten, right? Let’s stay here and synthesize dinner. Then chess?”

Spock lifted his head. “Jim, are the ambassadors not expecting your company this evening?”

Jim’s lips barely twitched at the corners. “One benefit of being captain is being able to prioritize what’s most important on this ship. And let me tell you something, Mister Spock. Spending time with you tonight is more important to me than cognacs and cheap conversation.”

It was as if Spock was processing those words, considering that he might’ve misheard Jim stating that, out of everything happening on this vessel, he was most important.

That was when Jim’s subtle expression bloomed into a full smile. “Guess I’d better inform Bones to get out his dress uniform again. Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Jim disentangled himself and simply lifted a hand when Spock called after him, “Jim, it is not—” He disappeared into the corridor. “—necessary.”

Spock stared at the door, long after it had slid shut. He couldn’t understand why Jim treated him this way, in a manner that suggested he was worthy of this kind of attention. No one had ever thought so before, after all. It was the question that kept him awake sometimes when he should’ve been sleeping… when he lay next to Jim, listening to him breathing peacefully.

‘ _Out of everyone, why have you chosen me?_ ’

As Spock reconsidered everything he’d just heard, he began to wonder, for the first time in his life, if perhaps he was actually worthy of receiving the same love he felt for Jim. He, himself, couldn’t answer why, but if Jim thought so… maybe that was the only answer he really needed.


	4. Every Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary/Prompt: Imagine Spock discovering spooning the first time he and Jim share a bed.

**Every Night**

Spock reached for an onyx rook, but before his fingertips could take hold of the piece, they were stopped in midair by Jim’s. Thin Vulcan lips parted and Spock raised his eyes as Jim entwined their digits, suspending the embracing of their hands beside the three-dimensional chess set.

He was instantly captivated by the soft smile barely tugging at the corners of Jim’s mouth and the nearly half-lidded eyes regarding him. A perfect match to what he was actually seeing, Spock could feel an immeasurable amount of love radiating into him from their contact. It was apparent in every facet of Jim, and Spock soaked it up with reckless abandon. His heart began beating faster in his side as he drank everything Jim offered in.

He long ago gave up on fighting it. Surrender had always been imminent.

“Jim,” he finally whispered, the inner ends of his brows lifting and slightly softening his expression.

Without a word, Jim’s fingers straightened and slipped through Spock’s own, parting their hands slowly until only the tips of their digits touched. And then the contact was broken. However, Spock’s hand remained where it was, even though Jim had retreated and begun to rise from his chair.

The emotional transference was like a drug—some sweet song that echoed through the pathways of every nerve and stimulated thoughts that Spock could only describe as flawlessly beautiful. It intoxicated him, claimed him, had every receptor in his body screaming for the feeling only Jim could provide. And if he had a decision in the matter, he would choose for his hand to be forever bound to Jim’s—that their lives would forever be weaved together in the fabric of the universe itself so that they would never separate.

Spock didn’t have that choice, however; that was made clear from his hand remaining solitarily stretched out beside the chess set, as if expecting that dearest touch to return even though Jim was no longer across from him. He was walking slowly, staying close to the small table they had been playing at, and then disappeared from Spock’s peripheral vision.

Just as he was about to finally lower his hand, Spock felt one arm slip around him in a half hug from behind and then saw Jim reaching past his shoulder to take it. Their fingers intertwined again securely with Vulcan knuckles buried into a human palm, and Jim pulled their hands to Spock’s chest to complete his embrace.

He ran his lower lip along the edge of one pointed green ear, and softly breathed, “Come to bed with me, Spock.”

Spock’s eyes closed and his tongue slipped out quickly to lick his lips. His chin dropped once in acknowledgement, but he didn’t get up; instead, his other hand that was grasping the fabric of his trousers lifted through the air and latched to Jim’s wrist tightly. And then even tighter.

~

Their hands were locked together again, clasped to Spock’s chest once more. However, this time, they were pulled securely against soft black hair instead of a blue tunic. Spock’s eyes were closed, and though he was naked, he didn’t feel it. Somehow, being wrapped up in Jim’s arms under a plushy blanket compensated for his lack of clothing and kept him even warmer than when he wore his sleeping robe.

Or perhaps it was the entire sensory experience that stimulated the feeling. He was surrounded entirely by Jim—physically and emotionally. His scent was in the pillows and sheets, his essence ever-present like the stars in the Vulcan night sky. And though Jim was tightly pressed into Spock from behind, he found himself just as lovingly embraced as if they were facing each other.

Spock could feel Jim’s soft breaths falling into his hair and began counting them, his scientific mind forever at work. However, he hadn’t realized he was actually subconsciously tallying the amount of moments he was fortunate enough to share with this incredible individual he had come to love so deeply.

It was at breath number ninety seven when Jim nudged his nose into the black hair and then softly dragged out his name in a whisper, “Spock…” His hand was squeezed for a moment before Jim continued just as softly, “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, Jim.” The reply was delivered at an equal volume, and Spock pushed his shoulders into the warm chest behind him as reassurance.

“Okay.” Spock could feel Jim’s facial muscles move in a manner which indicated a smile had crossed his lips before he asked his next question. “Warm?”

“Sufficiently.”

“Can we sleep like this?”

Spock’s eyes opened for a moment before he clutched Jim’s hand even closer to him. “I can see no better option.”

“Every night?” Jim asked, his smile widening as he slipped a leg over Spock’s. “Until the end of time?”

It was only logical to debate such a ridiculous statement, as the dimension of time was infinite while life in their current forms was not. Spock was sure Jim was expecting this kind of reply and he was positive he would have given it if they were on the bridge.

However, for now, as the universe had shrunk infinitesimally until the only thing that mattered was the feeling of Jim’s heart beating against him, Spock’s answer was simply, “Yes.”

And they did.


	5. How to Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: For the first time, Spock understands. Fluff. Written to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwP7uKzla7A).

**How to Love**

_So this is what it is like, being entangled and intertwined within the delicate ribbons of another’s affection._

He had gone without it his entire life, convinced from too much experience that he was unworthy of the love, acceptance, and understanding others were capable of giving. Time had repeatedly revealed to him that he would never, could never, find a place to belong—that his differences were too vast and his logic too strong to ever allow anyone else in.

He believed it without question. There was no cogent reason to expect otherwise, after having lived for thirty-six years of being constantly convinced of these truths.

…But how wrong he had actually been.

Spock’s eyelashes slowly parted, his vision blurry for a moment before it met Jim’s gentle gaze. His own softened and his thin lips parted to speak, but one finger was immediately pressed against them.

With his head of dark hair supported by the crook of Jim’s arm, Spock’s mouth closed. He continued to stare into the profound depth of those hazel eyes, his own half-lidded and projecting silent awe at the man who so lovingly cradled him in his embrace.

“Shhh,” Jim breathed quietly, letting the pad of his digit slowly trace down to the tip of Spock’s chin. It trailed along the far side of the angular Vulcan jaw, until Jim’s hand cupped his cheek and coaxed his face into the warmth of his chest.

Jim’s scent was strong here in his gold tunic; pleasant, welcoming, and intoxicating, it left Spock content to abandon his thoughts and simply remain as he was, listening to the steady beating of a most precious human heart. Suddenly, however, a different sensation piqued his awareness as he felt Jim’s lips gently brushing against his exposed ear.

The words whispered next were bestowed with such tenderness that Spock felt a foreign warmth inside of him come to life and augment rapidly. This odd perception of heat flooded through his veins and surpassed the one he physically felt from being wrapped up in those two protective arms.

“I love you.” A digit caressed over a psi point, making him shiver both in response to receiving that touch and hearing those words. “So much.”

At that moment, Spock felt himself begin to be rocked in small motions, and his eyes closed. He had no idea how to respond, except to follow his instincts. The long, slender digits of one hand entwined with Jim’s shirt, digging into the golden fabric and clenching it.

“So, so much,” Jim repeated just as softly and sincerely as before, and rested the side of his chin against Spock’s forehead.

And then it was quiet, except for the soft hum of the Enterprise crossing a vast ocean of glittering stars at warp… silent except for Jim’s rhythmic heartbeat pumping like a metronome, dictating the balance of Spock’s entire existence. His own drummed in time with it, his breaths following in a cadenced pattern that could be led by no other.

It happened then, in the dimness of the captain’s quarters in which Spock was collected half-bridal style in two human arms, with his long legs outstretched along the edge of the bed where Jim sat.

After decades of knowing nothing but rejection, exclusion, and disgrace… of being ridiculed and criticized and eschewed… After an entire lifetime spent alone, Spock finally came to understand what it was like to be accepted and desired and truly adored… as if he were something of actual value… as if he had something special to offer Jim, when he knew he really didn’t.

But Jim didn’t seem to mind that. And for that, it was the first time in his life that Spock felt what it was like not only to be loved…

His fingers tightened their grasp on Jim’s shirt and his eyes squeezed together against it.

…But to also love.

_Thank you._

  
This beautiful art is by [hanasheralhaminail](https://hanasheralhaminail.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much!!  



	6. Keeping Him Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Spirk fluff. Prompt: imagine sleepy OMS spock in the morning having trouble waking up because he is so warm and safe in Jim’s arms.

**Keeping Him Warm**

James Kirk was a man who had been blessed with the gift of excellent genes—attractive and healthy, they shined through from the top of his head covered in thick hair, all the way down to the tips of his perfectly-shaped toes.

He was radiant and alluring, displaying not even an inkling of physical flaw that Spock could identify. In fact, if there was a single fault in Jim’s appearance, it could have been pinned on being _too_ attractive and _too_ captivating—to the point of causing distraction.

Spock had learned of this detrimental effect firsthand; he had suffered the consequences of sharing a bond with a man who was exceedingly beautiful, both inwardly and out, and had the scars in his memory to prove it. How easily had Jim been able to draw him from his work, simply by pursing his lips and fluttering his eyelashes? It was nearly asinine.

Luckily, Jim understood the concepts of patience, priorities, and respect, and didn’t employ that coercion technique very often. Though grateful for that, Spock still hadn’t ever imagined that his steady Vulcan resolve could become so fragile, all because of the sound of another man’s voice or the way his hips moved as he walked.

To be fair, this was no typical individual he encountered at random—no ordinary Starfleet officer; as his bondmate, Jim was closer to him than any other. The effect of his presence was intensely magnetic, made only stronger by all the time and memories shared between them. With half a bond on his side, Jim knew things that no one else in the universe could… and by that logic, so did Spock with the other half.

There was no combination of words strung together in Vulcan or Standard that could accurately depict the pride Spock harbored for having the luxury of knowing Jim in all of his existence. It gave Spock infinite pleasure, being able to touch and recognize every millimeter of that incredible human mind, to explore and know every bit of that human skin as if it were his own.

Sensitive Vulcan hands had explored the entirety of Jim’s physical entity—seeking, feeling, memorizing, and drinking in each sensation it offered, until Spock’s head became clouded with emotional transference and he needed to withdraw before the perfect rows of logic in his mind shuffled into chaos.

Spock had been everywhere, leaving no bit of his bondmate unscrutinized, and found every fragment of Jim’s mind and body utterly delectable. He had no favorite place, as he favored them all.

But there was something about Jim’s arms which captivated him throughout all the years they spent at each other’s sides; it wasn’t just the shape and feel of the muscles, but what power they held to evoke certain feelings within Spock that he couldn’t previously understand.

These arms were the ones that were thrown around Spock, when he’d fallen in excruciating agony from the parasite latching to his body on Deneva. They were the ones that held him on Neural, after being shot with a primitive weapon and he lay bleeding beside the tall grass.

They held him when he was sick and weak. They supported him when his energy had been depleted but he needed to carry on anyway.

These arms had the hands that touched Spock with underlying feelings of tenderness—sometimes roughly when grasping his arms, sometimes falling lightly on his shoulder as soft as a butterfly. Sometimes roaming over the expanse of his long frame, caressing his psi points, or carding through his black hair. Sometimes, they were the hands tending to his wounds or setting his entire body ablaze with desire.

These arms had puzzled Spock at first, because they were the only doors that had forever been open to him. Since he had been young, he was pitted against a universe that neither wanted his company or would leave him alone as he was. At every turn, Spock was met with resistance and criticism—forever wrong for being too human or too Vulcan… for even blinking in an incorrect manner, it seemed.

But it wasn’t until he found himself pulled into the warmth of these arms that Spock understood what acceptance truly was. Within them, he could simply just _be_ , without the apprehension that every move he made would be judged and condemned. He could exist without prejudice or expectation. For the first time, Spock could breathe, and every breath he took came with the scent of Jim filling his senses.

These arms taught him the real meanings of love and loyalty, of comfort and forgiveness. Of acceptance and tolerance. Of protection and security. Of peace, of quiet, of what it really meant to be alive.

And though Jim’s arms had been and done all of these things over the decades he and Spock shared together, they were serving a completely different purpose this early winter morning.

When Spock’s eyes—creased now from the ravages of time—parted to the darkness of their bedroom and his consciousness fully eased through the haze of sleep, he found Jim was pressed tightly into his back and layers of heavy blankets piled on top of them.

At 5:30AM, Spock could rise into the cold air that waited for him outside of the covers. He could quickly slip a warmer robe over his sleeping clothes, and venture into the living space for coffee and the start of his day.

However, those same arms that had loved and defended and protected and healed him were wrapped tightly around his torso. They cradled him in an embrace, keeping him warm and sheltered.

A thin hand came up and latched onto Jim’s wrist, first tightening before releasing into a gentle grasp. Spock shifted slightly, pushing himself back even further into Jim’s natural heat.

As he felt Jim’s short exhales gently hit into his hair, Spock closed his eyes again. His hand slipped down to Jim’s, entwining their digits loosely.

Waking up could most definitely wait.


	7. Because I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Spirk fluff. Prompt: Imagine OMS Jim fussing over Spock’s scarf because he thinks he hasn’t tied it securely enough and Spock will get cold.

**Because I Love You**

“Jim, I have already—”

Spock was cut off mid-sentence by the tug given on the scarf he had just wrapped around his neck. Vulcans did not sigh, so he repressed his.

He stood silently in his dark gray overcoat and knitted hat, waiting as the scarf was undone and retied, and then adjusted further—until Jim was, at last, satisfied.

“ _There_ ,” he stressed, a soft smile playing at his lips as he paused to look lovingly at Spock. “Now we can go.”

With that, Jim’s hands slipped all the way down Spock’s arms, and gave a tiny squeeze to both wrists before letting go. He pivoted, marching toward the entrance of their condo, and grabbed his own scarf from a nearby hook.

Spock followed him as the door swished open and then closed, locking automatically behind them. He remained silent as Jim tossed the garment above his head and over his neck, and then made quick work of tying it as the lift arrived.

By no means had he given the same amount of attention to himself, and it wasn’t the first time Spock had noted that fact. They stepped through the doors and descended to street level.

Their condominium building was close to the bay, and they often took walks alongside it when the weather was agreeable. The air that morning was nippy with a breeze rolling in from the water, but the sunlight kissing Spock’s face was enough to make him comfortable—not to mention the multiple layers he had donned. And yes, his scarf certainly helped..

Jim was making casual conversation as usual, speaking about things Spock would normally find interesting; however, today, his thoughts were elsewhere.

He was responding in what he thought was typical fashion, but Jim had still come to notice something was off. It was obvious in the way he frequently turned to look at him, apparently observing the angular Vulcan features of his face.

As they approached the path they often took by the water, Spock had expected them to immediately proceed. After all, they’d already taken in the view of the bay countless times—especially since their condo balcony faced it—and there was nothing different about it today.

However, Jim stopped anyway, one large hand taking hold of the black railing as if he were anchoring himself. That simple action alone sent a powerful message: he was docked and not moving. …At least not until he was ready. But ready for what?

Jim’s intention was then made clear.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he observed, his hazel eyes scrutinizing his bondmate as Spock stood in the middle of the path. His tone was dry, as it often was, when he was subduing emotion in his words.

Had Spock been indicating what he was thinking through the bond? Spock lingered for a moment more where he was standing. In that event, it was nonsensical to withhold his musings as Jim was already—as Terrans said—“on to him.”

Spock stepped up to the rail beside Jim, their arms barely touching.

“May I pose an inquiry?”

“Of course,” Jim replied, and Spock could feel those eyes still upon him, even as his own dark ones gazed out to the calm waves gliding to the shore.

There was no reason for flowery language or speaking indirectly. Spock turned to Jim then and asked, “Do you find me incapable of ensuring my own well-being?”

It wasn’t what Jim had expected to hear; the drawing in of his brows and squinting of his eyes indicated as much. Jim shook his head slightly and pressed, “What do you mean?”

“You consistently lay my clothing out on the bed every morning. You remove my coat from the hook and hold it out for me,” Spock declared, his tone flat. “You appear to disapprove with the manner in which I tie my scarf.”

It appeared that Jim was fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips, and he momentarily turned his face forward in a rather sorry attempt to hide it.

Spock was unsure how to interpret that response. Did Jim really find him _that_ unsuited to look after himself?

“Furthermore, you appear to not put forth the same amount of effort when doing the same for yourself.” Spock just continued on, not giving Jim any opportunity to jump in. “If you find me inadequate, it would be most prudent to disclose your reasons for arriving at such a conclusion, both for your benefit and that of my own—”

That finally did it. A soft laugh huffed out of Jim’s lips. He brought his free hand up to his face and rubbed at his forehead for a brief time before returning his gaze to Spock. Amusement was written all over him.

“Tell me, Spock,” he began as that hand joined his other with holding to the railing. Jim leaned on his heels and rocked himself back and forth on them in short motions. “Have you ever stopped to consider for a second that maybe all of those things you just described have nothing to do with what you’re capable of?”

Spock’s eyebrows knitted down in consternation and remained quiet.

“Ever think that maybe,” Jim went on. “Just… _maybe_ … I’m doing these things for a different reason?”

“I see no other logical conclusion other than the fact you find me inept.”

“If you’re looking for logic to explain it, Mister Spock, you’re out of luck.” Jim let go of the railing finally, righting himself. “When I take your clothes out for the day or give you a cup of tea when you’re sitting down or fuss over your scarf, it’s because I love you and I want only the best for you.”

Spock’s eyes widened in the most minute amount. Just as Jim hadn’t anticipated what he said earlier, he hadn’t expected such a reply.

“It’s not because I don’t think you can’t do these things yourself. I mean, of course you can,” Jim explained. “But I love doing them because I love taking care of you. But, by all means, if it bothers you then I’ll stop—”

“It does not bother me, Jim,” Spock quickly interjected, the slightest dusting of green blush upon his cheeks.

The moment Jim recognized it, he thought it best to move on from the topic; they were, after all, in a public place and the last thing he wanted was for Spock to feel uncomfortable.

“All right, then. So it’s settled.” Jim leaned forward slightly—almost to the point where they were touching, and then asked, “Shall we?”

Spock nodded once in response, and began following as Jim started down their normal walking route.

But this time, there was a strange sensation within him. Spock felt oddly full of warmth and as he walked, he realized that the most important thing enveloping him wasn’t the physical clothing he wore, but the invisible cloak of Jim’s affection that wrapped him up securely.

Spock decided a few steps later that he would surround Jim with the depth of his own regard upon their return, and what better place than in their bedroom?

That green blush across his face returned, and Spock suddenly looked very much to going back home.


	8. Seduction a la Plaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Spirk fluff. Prompt: Imagine OMS one sleepy morning, Spock fumbling around in their dresser for something to wear around the house while Kirk is already cooking breakfast. He comes across the plaid shirt after a few moments and decides to wear it. The look on Kirk’s face is enough for him to wear it all the time.

**Seduction a la Plaid**

There was a small burst of light as the hot water synthesized. Stifling a yawn, Jim squeezed his already half-closed eyes together and removed Spock’s steaming cup by the handle, before turning and shuffling away.

His open back gray slippers slid across the shimmery tiled floor of the kitchen, bringing him to a counter on the far side. Jim lifted his right arm as he reached for the cabinet above him and winced at the sudden jolt of pain that shot through it. His fingers tightly clasped to the simple handle and he braced himself, lowering his face and rotating his stiff shoulder with a soft groan.

A larger hand unexpectedly fell upon his own entwined with the handle and his face snapped up to look at it; however, the soft curves of Spock’s slender digits were the last thing on his mind as his eyes widened at the sight of a familiar red plaid cuff.

His gaze trailed up Spock’s forearm until Jim turned his head, chin hitting into raised shoulder.

Their eyes met for just a moment before Jim’s wandered down to take in more of the flannel shirt Spock had, for some unknown reason, decided to don that morning. The hint of a smile pricked at the corners of his lips as he slipped his hand out from underneath Spock’s and dropped it.

He turned around, sandwiched between the edge of the counter and his husband. Jim reached up, took the flaps of the shirt collar, and softly tugged them to bring Spock’s face right down to his.

Their noses barely touched.

“Mister Spock,” Jim proclaimed quietly, a playful captainly tone in his voice. He brushed his lips along a lightly stubbled cheek until they were closer to one pointed ear. “If you wear my clothes, I’ll only take them off you.”

Jim felt Spock take his shoulders then, nimble digits gently digging into the soft material of his white shirt. He felt the same gravelly cheek slip back against his and a pair of lips at his own ear.

A soft, deep voice graced him then, the words reverberating in Jim’s very soul. “I shall endeavor to do so every day.”

With half-lidded eyes, both turned their faces in slow motion toward the other, leaving mere millimeters to separate their lips. Feeling Spock’s warm breath spilling over his face and his spicy scent invading his senses, Jim could do nothing more at that moment than pull on the collar again with greater force and crush their mouths together.

They kissed just like that, in their kitchen illuminated by early morning sun, until their lips very slowly broke away from each other. Jim’s hands released the shirt and moved to cup over the ones still clinging to his shoulders. He gently removed them, pulling them together between their chests. There, both of Spock’s wrists were bound in a stiff clasp.

“Looks like I’ll be making good on that threat then,” Jim commented just above a whisper.

At the sight of one eyebrow slowly creeping up in obvious interest, he flashed a smug grin in return and pushed Spock back gently. “Get back in bed. Your tea can wait.”


	9. Emotional Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Set during the Doomsday Machine episode, this is a musing on Spock’s reaction to Jim returning miraculously in one piece… this time. Next, however, he may not be so fortunate. Prompt: “Could you repeat that?”

**Emotional Fallout**

Spock slowly turned, his dark eyes fixating on the dilapidated starship barely holding a steady position on the forward view screen. Every muscle within his body became stiff at what he had just heard, and though he was sure he understood correctly, he sought for confirmation anyway.

Calmly, he requested, “Could you repeat that, Captain?”

Jim’s hand tightened on the communicator, hazel eyes full of determination as he stared at this _thing_ —this, killer of worlds—which had extinguished an entire star system and left it utterly devoid of existence. …So much life _wasted_. Entire innocent civilizations and natural planetary developments, all destroyed for absolutely nothing—just like Matt Decker and his crew.

There was no excuse at all for such a catastrophic tragedy, and even if it was the last thing he ever did, James Kirk was going to make sure it went no further.

Without tearing his obsessive gaze from the Constellation’s crackling viewer, Jim wrenched forward slightly, a second lock of hair breaking free and brushing over his forehead as a rush of excited anticipation surged through his veins. “You heard me, Spock. I said I’m going to ram her right down that thing’s throat!”

Spock’s spine straightened, his face remaining stone-like. “Jim,” he spoke, his voice softening in the slightest at the utterance of his name, before very matter-of-factly continuing, “You will be killed. Just like Decker.”

~

Spock was just concluding his announcement of Sulu’s scanner readings, which indicated the planet killer had been successfully destroyed, when Jim bolted through the red doors of the turbo lift at the second they split open.

His boots slammed against the floor, quickly carrying him to end of the red railing on the left side of the bridge. He leaned back, stopping short with his gaze glued to the listing object displayed on the viewer, his shoulders rising and falling in rhythm with erratic breathing.

Spock’s chin hit his shoulder when he looked over it, attention drawn by all the noise, and then stood tall with a graceful pivot. Taking two steps forward, his face was lifted in Jim’s direction, causing his eyes to shine in the overhead lighting. For a moment, he seemed to just drink in Jim’s presence before finally speaking in a controlled tone, “Welcome aboard, Captain.”

Jim looked at him, cheeks barely flushed from his exertion and the high from all the adrenaline pumping through his body. As he continued to breathe deeply, a tiny smile began pulling up at the corners of his lips when his eyes met Spock’s, and he nodded before returning his attention back to the screen.

The distance between them, though short, was currently unbearable after what had just transpired, and Spock was compelled to reduce it as much as possible. As he climbed the one step that led to the perimeter walkway of the bridge, he stood close enough for his blue uniform to touch that which was of captainly green, and then confirmed what Jim was searching for on the viewer.

“Sensors show all energy sources have been deactivated,” Spock reported. His face turned in Jim’s direction again and he offered a nod. “It is quite dead.”

A relived breath pushed out from Jim’s lips, and he finally was able to pull his gaze away, diverting it right past Spock and to the helm.

“Mister Sulu, get us back on course using impulse thrusters. Conserve as much power as possible for the time being.” Despite the severity of the situation he had just been in—and it being a miracle that he even managed to survive—Jim’s voice was strong and sure. “Lieutenant Palmer, relay to Mister Scott that he is to expedite repairs on the warp drive. We need it online as soon as possible.”

He about-faced, making his way back toward the lift while continuing to issue orders. “Lieutenant Uhura, tell all chief officers that there’ll be a debriefing in Conference Room 3A in fifteen minutes sharp.” With Spock on his heels, he stopped to make eye contact with her, and gave a stiff nod. “You’ve got the conn.”

The red doors split and both Jim and Spock disappeared into the lift, leaving the bridge crew to their assignments.

Their eyes instantly met when the doors closed, cutting them off from everyone else. Jim’s hand clutched to a lever at the same time Spock’s did, and he commanded, “Deck three.”

However, just as soon they began what would have been a very short descent, Spock pulled on his and said, “Pause.”

The lift suspended movement immediately, leaving the two men staring meaningfully at each other. Spock’s hand slipped off the handle and fell to his side, his gaze remaining intently focused on Jim as he began to close the space between them.

“Spock…” Jim exhaled barely above a whisper, all of his attention drawn into those dark brown eyes.

There was so much they contained—things that only Jim could recognize, and it made his heart swell immensely. At the very moment when Spock was close enough, Jim’s own hand let go of the lever and he just closed his eyes, throwing his arms around the thin Vulcan frame in a strong embrace.

He, himself, was just fine; he’d successfully made it through the danger, after all. But what he had just seen in Spock’s eyes prompted him to pull him close and reassure that fact.

Spock’s arms immediately slid by Jim’s sides and crossed, tightening about him as his face fell; one cheek pressed against soft golden hair and a rounded ear.

The moments slipped by as the two remained silently entangled, before Jim’s eyes slowly opened. Releasing his grasp, he went to pull away but found himself still trapped within Spock’s hold.

“Spock,” he repeated softly, his hands slipping up to take hold of strong shoulders as he braced himself and pushed gently.

When Jim was finally able to lean back, he did so just enough so that he could catch Spock’s gaze again.

“I’m okay,” he said with a reassuring nod. “See? I’m all right.” Jim’s eyebrows furrowed then. “…Are you?”

Spock’s response would, of course, be that he was, as the answer could be nothing different. After all, he knew very well that this kind of great risk was all part of the life every starship captain led. …However, not all would have been so willing to do what Jim had just done.

He breathed in deeply, studying Jim’s face, and the heaviness of what they’d just been through came crashing down. It was impossible to deny that one day, Jim’s good fortune could very well run out, and Spock’s entire universe would just as easily fall apart on that day.

Jim insisted he was in perfect form now, and indeed he was. But what about the next mission, or the one after that? How long could Jim keep this up before he was returned to the ship, limp and cold in someone’s arms? How long would it be until every star that brightened the sky burned out and fell, abandoning Spock in a darkness that would never abate?

Jim’s brows pulled in more as Spock’s face lowered; though it remained carefully blank as usual, it was clear that he was processing something deep. Jim squeezed his shoulders several times and then ducked his head so that he could see his eyes better. Softly, he spoke, “Hey.”

Spock swallowed then, meeting Jim’s gaze and offering a nod. “Very well.”

His response apparently wasn’t convincing enough though, as he found himself immediately pulled back into another quick hug.

“Everything’s okay, Spock,” Jim soothed once more and ran his large hands up and down the blue uniform covering his back before he pulled away. He pushed their lips together in a brief kiss, and then Jim smiled at him. “I’ll make it up to you after the conference.”

He gave a strong pat to both of Spock’s biceps then, and disentangled himself from his arms. Stepping back, Jim waited as Spock slowly turned and made his way to the other side, still appearing lost in thought.

Silence persisted, and while Jim wanted nothing more than to press the issue of Spock’s pensive state, he couldn’t be late for his own meeting… or keep the lift any longer without attracting any additional suspicion.

Taking hold of the lever again, he pulled it and again commanded, “Deck three.”

Once more, they were descending. Just before the doors opened, Jim offered another small smile, only for the sake of reinforcement.

As they stepped out into the corridor together, Spock’s eyes fell on the shininess of Jim’s blond hair.

‘ _It’s okay_.’

Those two words echoed in Spock’s mind. While he couldn’t deny it now as they entered the conference room, he found himself wondering just how long that would remain true, for not only Jim but himself as well.


	10. Not In MY Sickbay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Spock is lightly injured on an away mission but refuses to let McCoy treat his wound. McCoy eventually figures out why. Eye rolling ensues. Prompt: Attire, their sick day scrubs.

**Not In MY Sickbay**

As the door swished open and permitted him access to sickbay, Jim heard McCoy snap, “Just put it on and stop giving me problems!”

The sudden outburst stopped Jim dead in his tracks. He let his weight fall back on his heels and paused in place just to listen, but there was no further shouting.

Instead, he heard McCoy beginning to walk through the room lined with beds and mutter, “Everyone on this damn ship wants to argue with me over everything…” When he reached the doorway, he lifted his face. “Oh, hi, Jim.”

“Bones…” Jim stepped forward, his eyebrows lifted just slightly and concern present on his face. “What is Spock’s condition?”

“His condition, Captain, is that he wants to argue,” McCoy replied, crossing his arms with irritation clearly written across his features. “He’s fine, Jim. The gash across his chest wasn’t as deep as it looked on the planet but it’s hard to run the dermal regenerator over it when his uniform is obstructing full access to the wound.”

“So why doesn’t he change into one of the med jumpers?”

“That’s what I’m getting to, Jim,” McCoy stated flatly. “He outright refused, telling me to repair only what I could quickly because he has ‘something to attend to’ and that _meditation_ would handle the rest. For someone who claims to be so damn logical, he sure can be a pain in the ass.”

“Logic and stubbornness are entirely different things, Bones,” Jim replied, slipping by him and sticking his head into the next room. His eyes fell on Spock, sitting with his legs outstretched on a bio-bed. A blue robe hung loosely over his frame, revealing a large patch of fine black hair across his chest.

“Spock…” Jim began, walking forward.

“I am quite well, Captain.”

Jim arrived at his side and peered down at the wound; as McCoy earlier told him, it looked much better up here than when they all were planet-side. Despite that the bleeding had ceased, it was still only half-repaired though. “Does it hurt?”

“Negative, sir,” Spock replied, his eyes intently focused on Jim’s. The strong, bright lights of the sickbay made them reflective and shiny—almost sparkling, even, as he gazed upward.

Jim’s fingertips touched the very edge of the mattress and slid forward slightly from that point as if he wished to reach out and touch Spock, but he stopped in place. His voice was warm, despite his next words. “I shouldn’t have to tell you to be more careful. Your job isn’t to protect me, do you understand?”

“Captain,” Spock replied, pausing to swallow and just barely shaking his head. “As you are irreplaceable, I could not allow the creature to harm you. It was only logical that I pushed you aside.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you, yourself, are replaceable, Mister Spock?”

“No…” Spock’s voice softened at the first word, but his tone returned as he continued. “I am merely stating that it is the duty of every crew member to ensure that the captain is able to _continue_ serving as the captain. Whenever possible, of course.”

“Mister Spock…”

The sound of someone loudly clearing his throat cut straight through the air and Jim quickly shifted his attention to over his shoulder. McCoy remained in the doorway, looking incredibly unimpressed. His arms were crossed again, a hypo in one hand.

“Now, I don’t mean to be rude, Captain,” he began as he approached both men. “But I’d like to get this pain in the ass patient out of pain and out of my hair. So, allow me to do that?”

Jim straightened his spine and replied with a more serious tone, “Of course.”

He looked down at Spock then. “If you’re feeling up to it, chess later?”

“Certainly,” Spock acknowledged.

McCoy’s eyebrow shot in the air as he put two and two together at that moment; of _course_ , that’s what Spock was referring to earlier when he said he had business elsewhere and couldn’t afford to get stuck in sickbay. He and Jim often played chess at this hour, and God knew what else…

Jim and Spock held their gaze once more, and a small smile crept across Jim’s face before he looked over at McCoy. Then, he took his leave.

‘You damn love-struck idiots…’ McCoy groaned in his head as he grabbed Spock’s nearest arm and injected the contents of the hypo.

“That was an antibiotic, to help that green blood of yours keep you healthy. Now you just lie there and don’t go giving me any more grief… I’ve had more than enough of the both of you today.”

“Both?” Spock inquired, raising his chin and one eyebrow simultaneously.

“Yes. _Both_. Now shut up so I can fix you and send you on your way to play chess.”


	11. Together Or With No One At All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Takes place after Requiem for Methuselah. Spock reads Jim’s mind and finds that of all the people who have ever hurt him, Spock himself caused the most damage of all.

**Together Or With No One At All**

Such anguish. And detriment. Despair. And loneliness. Despondency and hopelessness, because the recent loss had been too great a burden to face alone.

Spock’s first instinct was to recoil from these toxic things polluting a soul so representative of his dual heritage—vast and beautiful as a field overgrown with Terran wildflowers, warm as the afternoon sun baking the desert sands surrounding ShiKahr.

Like a mirror, Spock found himself seeing his own reflection within it, but what was staring back at him was unfamiliar. It was a mutilated and warped image that he recognized as a portrait of his own inner self—a patchwork and abstract piece illustrated by the mistakes he made and all of his shortcomings.

He had never seen himself like this in Jim’s mind. And if he hadn’t done what he did, he surmised he never would. Curiously, the reflection itself wasn’t formed by Jim’s thoughts but Spock’s own, thrown upon a canvas in that brilliant human mind from the emotions that coursed between them.

And though Spock wanted to withdraw from the unsightly truth, he didn’t. Instead, his lips slowly parted and his dark eyes twitched in anguish at the feelings he allowed willingly to flow through his fingertips. He remained there, collecting all of them to himself to carry alone out of atonement—out of duty to his captain, honor to his friend, and love for the only one who truly accepted him as he was.

Spock loved Jim. He knew this. But he hadn’t known how deeply until this moment. He hadn’t and couldn’t have known what his recent actions had done to him. But what he had no capacity and reference to understand before, he understood now.

And for that, he would make amends with sacrifice.

“ _Forget…_ ” Spock’s whisper broke as he expelled this one word softly into the silence of the captain’s quarters. His eyes fell closed and his slender digits lingered a moment more before slipping from the psi points they gently graced. Spock leaned over Jim’s unconscious form slumped over the desk, his hands taking hold of the robust human shoulders and his black hair intermingling with golden locks when he rested his head on Jim’s.

At one time, Jim had convinced himself that the Enterprise alone was enough.

“ _This vessel. I give, she takes. She won’t permit me my life. I’ve got to live hers._ ”

And maybe it _was_ enough then. But not any longer.

Spock’s grasp tightened on Jim’s shoulders as he considered a question that would plague his intellect for eternity. How could someone who was so willing to give to others face abandonment and solitude so many times over the course of his life?

During their many melds, Spock had come to know Jim deeper than any other ever had. The transference of memories through thoughts instead of words made them easier to share, and Jim offered them freely. Without the experience of ever knowing the affection of another, Spock hadn’t understood how deeply important that exchange of information was.

Spock had come to know of Tarsus IV firsthand, and what it was like to experience severe trauma without a mother’s or father’s arms to run to. He learned of Jim’s first love, Ruth, and how their relationship was destroyed by her family’s disapproval of marrying a man destined for the stars. He learned of Jim’s sadness upon being denied the right to father his own son, a son he would have cherished and loved like no other.

Spock learned of the real impact of losing Gary, a best friend and trusted Starfleet colleague of nearly fifteen years. Spock learned of the pain felt with every message written to the families of crew members who gave their lives in the name of exploration—felt the weight of the question “Is one life given for the good of many really justifiable?” asked over and over with each one sent.

And now, he knew of the wound that had freshly reopened from seeing Rayna die. But none of these moments of loss were what hurt Jim most. Horrifyingly, Spock found it was his own recent actions to blame for that.

Jim and he had been joined at the hip and sharing a bed for over two years now. During this time, Jim had cradled Spock in both body and essence as if he held treasure; he gave him a place to belong, and a home in his arms. And yet, Spock had never realized the full meaning behind it. He never understood why Jim shared his most personal thoughts and feelings with only him.

He knew now.

Spock nuzzled one brow against Jim’s hair before he slowly inched back, pulling him up into a sitting position in the chair as he moved. Carefully, Spock slipped one arm across Jim’s shoulder blades and the other beneath his knees, and then lifted him into his arms.

‘ _I have injured you._ ’

His arms tightened around the man they held, speaking in thought as if they were engaged in a meld.

‘ _For that, I am truly sorry._ ’

Spock turned, slowly walking away from the desk and to the sleeping alcove. ‘ _I am so sorry, Jim._ ’

When he arrived at the bed, he simply sat down on the edge, and kept Jim cradled to his chest. Spock stared at the wall directly across from him for several moments, before letting his eyes fall to the floor and closing them once again in silent contemplation.

Recent correspondence from Amanda had revealed Sarek’s success in locating a new mate to replace T’Pring. Spock’s parents were entirely unaware of his relationship with his captain, and though they respected Jim as an honorable man of the service, Spock was quite certain that they would disapprove of his mixing a professional relationship with a most personal one.

He had never spoken to Jim of bonding, under the assumption Jim would have no interest in enslaving himself to someone who could never match the emotional caliber of a human mate. Furthermore, Spock imagined Jim would never wish to share the love he held for his ship with anyone.

In hindsight, he realized how utterly foolish that had been. How many times had Jim proven otherwise—proven that his heart was large enough for both?

When Spock entered his mind minutes ago, he found the same message there: Jim utterly adored him, more than any string of words or actions could possibly convey. But what he also sensed was the desperate isolation felt from Spock telling him of Sarek finding another mate—failure from, once again, being incapable of keeping someone he loved so much, despite how hard he tried. And, worse yet, remorse for not allowing himself to fight that decision out of respect for what he thought was Spock’s own choice.

Spock had realized that this was a much different kind of pain than what Jim had experienced when he lost Ruth and David and Gary and Rayna. This was so much deeper… so much worse.

Rims of eyelashes parted to reveal a pair of dark eyes. Despite all of his flaws, Jim had been willing to bond with him.

Spock let his gaze wander to Jim’s sleeping face and he studied it. After knowing how much he had been hurt in the past, Spock had managed to afflict him in the same callous manner. Unthinkable.

Drawing in a deep breath, Spock thought back to all of the times Jim had held him protectively like this. He remembered what it was like to feel the universe burning to ashes around him, and the comfort of Jim’s arms shielding him from the flames.

Spock stood suddenly. He turned and carefully placed Jim’s sleeping frame on the bed. He adjusted the pillow, procured a blanket from the drawer, and covered him.

A slender hand brushed up over Jim’s forehead, pushing back the pieces of blond hair that had lazily fallen across it; they were replaced by a pair of lips pursed in a soft and tender kiss that lingered for seconds before withdrawing.

Spock stood then and turned from the bed, striding toward the door. He had a rejection letter to send to his parents, and he would do it without any prior discussion with Jim.

Whether Jim still wanted him or not was not his concern; in fact, he couldn’t fathom how Jim still could, after what he caused. As the door split open, Spock made his exit knowing that he would rather live a life feeling unrequited love for James Kirk, than no love at all for a bondmate forced upon him.

_Kaiidth. We go together, or with no one at all._

Luckily, Spock would find out later that ships night that besides being accepting and tolerant, Jim was also very forgiving—and very much still in love with him.


	12. Your Number One Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A little bit of encouragement goes a long way… Written for this prompt: Spock represents Starfleet in some kind of competition, Jim supports him like a crazy cheerleader.

**Your Number One Fan**

With his elegant lute held safely to his chest, Spock’s shoulder tapped into Jim’s for the third “accidental” time as they slowly strolled down the corridor. Jim wore a wide smile plastered across his face, but had refused to divert his eyes from directly ahead since they took their leave of the large rec room.

No words had been exchanged between them since that time, and Spock realized if he wanted to get Jim talking, he would need to make the first move.

“Captain.”

“Yes, Spock?” Jim replied in a light-hearted tone.

There was a pause.

“…Was it really necessary to shout in that manner during the competition tonight?”

That was the question that seemed to finally do Jim in and win his attention back. A hearty laugh expelled from his lips and he, at last, looked up at Spock over his shoulder.

It was one of _those_ looks that came with one of _those_ smiles—the one that somehow seemed to rival the light and warmth of the Vulcan sun, for as illogical and scientifically inaccurate as it sounded. As soon as Spock saw it, his eyes widened just slightly and he felt his cheeks grow hot. The very public location of where they were wasn’t lost on him, and he pulled his gaze away immediately.

“What’s the matter, Mister Spock?” Jim asked as they turned a corner and walked through a large doorway leading to the observation deck. “Don’t like being appreciated?”

“It is not…” Spock fumbled over the right words. “That is to say…”

“Uh-huh,” Jim replied as they continued on. “Well, you should get used to the idea that people on this ship like you. Some of them _really_ like you, actually.”

The deck was designed with the beauty and peace of Terran parks in mind; there were trees, bushes, shrubs, and flowers planted in sectioned beds of soil with walking paths and benches bringing a touch of humanity to the natural scene. Lampposts lit the walkways with the softness and romanticism of candlelight.

Though it was a serene location sure to please any weary space traveler, the crown jewels of this large room had everything to do with the galaxy they soared through: the enormous windows that revealed the glittering lights of distant stars could be rivaled nowhere else on the Enterprise—or Earth, for that matter.

They arrived at their preferred place quickly, a bench before one window that was surrounded by the green of leafy plants native to Earth. Jim waved his hand before a sensor on the nearest lamppost, dimming it to darkness before joining Spock in sitting down.

“In fact,” he continued quietly as he shifted so that their sides were touching. Jim turned his face, revealing the quiet grin that shaped his lips. “I can say for certain that at least one person onboard absolutely loves you.”

Spock gripped his lute tighter and tore his eyes from Jim’s again. He would never understand how Jim always knew the right words to say that would make his pulse begin to race and have him lightheaded in moments.

“You’re really good though,” Jim continued, refining the focus of their conversation—they _were_ in a semi-public place after all—and reaching out to let a hand fall on Spock’s arm. “You could steal the show anywhere with how you play. It’s no wonder you won our little competition here tonight. I imagine no one could ever stand up to you.”

“Untrue. I have played in competition before. It was the National Lute Championship on my home world,” Spock replied, unable to take his attention away from the manner in which Jim’s thumb rubbed small circles on his arm. “However, my final ranking was second place.”

“No way. That was rigged.”

“Negative, Jim. Sarek was simply a more talented musician.”

The tiny massage stopped. “Wait, Spock. You competed against your father on a national level?!”

Spock’s chin tapped into his shoulder as he looked back at Jim again. His eyebrows raised and he plainly replied, “Yes.”

Jim huffed out a soft laugh; he could only imagine Sarek and Spock, sitting stone-faced on some grandiose stage trying to outplay each other. “I imagine that was pretty intense. I would’ve loved to see that. But, honestly, it doesn’t matter what place you came in, because I’m still proud of you.”

That seemed to stimulate something in Spock’s thoughts. He raised his chin and slightly cocked his head.

“Perhaps there is merit to what you refer to as _cheerleading_ after all, Jim. It does induce a rise in enthusiasm for the task at hand.” Their eyes met again. “I am left to wonder if I could have possibly bested Sarek had you encouraged me in that way then.”

Jim simply listened, the corners of his mouth pulling outwards in another gentle smile. Those words meant everything to him. Four years ago, at the commencement of this mission, no such thought would’ve ever entered Spock’s mind. But now, instead of outright dismissing himself and his abilities, he seemed to be asking questions about them instead—a giant improvement, Jim decided.

“However, that inquiry holds little importance,” Spock added after a beat. “The foremost reason to play an instrument is to positively affect the ones listening to you, not for competition.”

“Can you play now, Spock?”

One pointed brow raised in question. “Here?”

“Why not?”

“As you wish, Jim.”

Spock adjusted his lute in the proper position and moved his face from side to side, stretching his neck and getting comfortable. Jim watched as those nimble, lovely digits fell upon the strings and began to strum them in beautiful harmony.

Soon, the enchantment of an ancient Vulcan song permeated throughout the entire observation deck with irresistible allure. As Spock closed his eyes and continued to play, Jim let his gaze drift dreamily out the window.

His thoughts, however, were entirely focused on how proud he was of Spock—not just for playing his lute with such proficiency, but for everything else he excelled at too… for not giving up in a universe that constantly kept trying to indispose and dishearten him for having mixed blood.

Jim had picked up on that early on and decided to do whatever he could to encourage Spock in attempt to make up for all of the injustices he had faced. In the end, they had both benefitted from it. Without that effort, Spock wouldn’t be sitting in a public place playing his lute, and Jim’s heart wouldn’t be filled with its beautiful song, or the love that reverberated through them both.


	13. Puppy Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Spirk fluff. Spock learns to love their puppy named Ashaya. Prompt: Imagine OMS where Jim and Spock’s spaniel puppy who I have named Ashaya (her name is literally darling/dearest) curling up between Jim and Spock on the bed.

**Puppy Love**

Four furry legs scrambled in different directions, the combination of nails clashing against the kitchen floor and a high-pitched yipping creating a whole flurry of noise.

Her eyes were on that black slipper, which was soft and chewy and had a rubbery sole and, most importantly, was _new_. A tiny paw lashed out then, pushing at it before she jumped away in retreat. With her chin low to the ground and backside in the air, the little growl that rumbled out of her mouth was accompanied with the wagging of her tail.

And then the shoe turned in her direction! She growled again and just as she was about to pounce, two large hands grabbed at her sides. With a groan, Jim lifted her into the air, his achy joints popping on the way up.

“Ashaya,” he warned, lifting his eyebrows and raising her so that they were face-to-face. Her ears went down. “Now you listen to me, little dog,” Jim said, giving her a tiny playful shake. “You’ve wrecked enough slippers and you’re not about to eat these too.”

Ashaya’s nose twitched before she lunged forward. Jim winced and laughed, turning his face to the side at the feeling of her licking and nipping at his cheek.

“All right, all right, enough!” he exclaimed, pulling her close to his chest and holding her tight. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make some tea here?”

Sauntering out of the kitchen and into the living room, his eyes fell on Spock, comfortably covered with a blanket and sitting in his chair before the fireplace. He had been reading something long on his PADD, but all the noise piqued his interest. His gaze met Jim’s as he approached.

“She is unruly,” Spock commented, pivoting his head to keep his attention on them as Jim walked around his chair.

“No, she’s a puppy, Spock,” he replied, giving two soft pats to her back. Jim’s eyes opened a little wider and he cocked his head, adding in an insistent tone, “And you love her.”

Spock stiffened a little, quickly moving his PADD away as Jim pulled Ashaya from his chest and placed her right in his lap. She shook out her floppy ears and then looked up with auburn eyes, panting.

“Jim, I do not think—”

“Look.” Jim’s voice was velvety as he walked behind Spock and took his bony shoulders in a soft squeeze. Massaging the muscles there, he continued, “It won’t kill you to hold her for a few minutes, Spock. At least long enough for me to bring some tea for you.” Another squeeze. “Right?”

“I really would prefer—”

His protest was interrupted by the sudden chirping of a communicator. Jim’s hands immediately slipped from Spock as he straightened and retrieved the device at his hip, looking down at the screen to identify who was contacting him.

“Ah shit, it’s Admiral Haskell. Spock, gimme a second. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for three days now.” Before Spock could even reply, Jim connected himself to the communication and began walking toward the study with a serious greeting. “Kirk here.” The door closed behind him.

Spock stared after Jim for several moments, until he felt two paws hit his chest and a soft tongue flick at his chin. He stiffly lunged back to stop the action immediately, pulling Ashaya back while snapping his face in her direction.

They stared at each other. She continued to pant, appearing to smile up at him with her little pink tongue hanging from her mouth. As her tail wagged and she pawed at him, Spock’s eyes widened and raised one brow at his dilemma.

When it came right down to it, Spock had plenty of talent at rebalancing warp cores, strategizing logical plans in the face of intense pressure, writing well-received articles on quantum mechanics and astrophysics theories—the list of his expertise could drag on and on, as demonstrated by his heavily decorated contributions to Starfleet.

But handling this wiggly puppy? As that one eyebrow remained elevated, it seemed ridiculous, but perhaps this would be the ultimate test of his abilities.

~

Nearly thirty five minutes after his disappearance into the study, Jim made his return, affixing the communicator back to his hip. He drew in a breath, opening his mouth to speak but stopped dead in his tracks.

He blinked several times at the sight before him. Spock had dozed off in his chair, one hand resting on their sleeping puppy curled up comfortably in his lap. Part of his blanket was being shared to cover her, and they both looked so content and at complete peace with the world that Jim thought nothing at all could rouse them.

Closing his lips, Jim’s expression softened into a smile. Quietly, he made his way back into the kitchen and whispered under his breath, “Told you so, Spock.”


	14. That Little Black Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Crack. The crew is annoyed that Starfleet ordered the Enterprise to be fitted with a new wardrobe materializer, instead of focusing on other needed upgrades. Jim decides to try it out for the first time. A major bitchface follows when there’s a bug in the program. Prompt: Attire, formal gala garb. Surak help us all.

**That Little Black Number**

The five-day stopover at Starbase 05 had been mandatory for “ship upgrades” as Starfleet orders specified, and the details went no further than that until initial docking procedures had been completed. Now, the Enterprise was pulling away and preparing to set off to its next destination.

“So,” McCoy began, addressing the men accompanying him in the lift, though his gaze was fixed to the ceiling and fingertips were drumming quietly on the wall behind him. “You mean to tell me _this_ is what Starfleet considers a  ‘high priority’ upgrade?”

Jim’s digits remained curled on the lever as he lifted his face with an expression that was far from impressed. “It appears so, Bones.”

“Here we are, in the dead of space, and they prioritize this nonsense over, say, _sickbay improvements_. Sure, why in the hell would those be important?”

“Doctor, if I may remind you,” Spock began, raising his eyebrows. “The wardrobe materializer has been installed to maximize the capability of blending in with foreign environments. Its purpose is to improve the ease of relating to native—”

“Damn it, Spock!” McCoy snapped, pushing himself a step away from the wall and lifting his fists in frustration to his chest. “We already had a costume manufacturer on board. If you ask for my opinion—which you didn’t but I’ll give it to you anyway—this was a huge waste of resources that could’ve been spent much better elsewhere.”

“All right.” Jim’s voice was low and authoritative, immediately putting an end to the banter. His free hand lifted to meet his forehead as his face tilted forward and he rubbed at it twice in annoyance. “There’s no point to this conversation since it’s already been done.”

His hand fell and he thrust it in the direction of McCoy. “Let’s at least _see_ it before complaining. If you’re still unhappy, you can send your opinion over to headquarters yourself.”

The lift chimed and the door slid open. All three shuffled out with McCoy grumbling under his breath, “Just sayin’, Jim…”

They turned a corner and entered a room in which a floor-to-ceiling device, appearing very similar to the transporter, had been freshly installed. In fact, the only noticeable difference between the two was that the half-circle surrounding the platform before them was made of mirrors.

Scotty stood in the middle of the room.

“Scotty,” Jim greeted him as Spock and McCoy filed in after.

“Sir,” he acknowledged and then cocked his head toward the new addition. It was clear by the tone of his voice that he, also, wasn’t exactly pleased with the effort spent to install yet another machine that he would ultimately need to maintain, when that work surely could have been better used to improve engineering. “She’s bin tested. Hendricks tried it an walked out lookin like a horse jockey. Demott came out as a prince an ah think it went a wee bit ta his head.”

“Well.” Jim stepped forward and surveyed the platform as McCoy and Spock hung back near Scotty. He turned his face over his shoulder to look at the engineer. “It certainly looks similar to the transporter. Let’s try it out.”

“Aye, Sir. Just step on the platform an tell me what you’d like to wear.”

“Formal attire will do just fine, Mister Scott. A suit. Black.”

As Jim stepped on one of the circular markings and faced forward again, Scotty moved behind the controls and began reading the settings out loud as he programmed them. “Entry 304, business suit, black, modern style, male. Ready ta start on your order, Captain.”

“Energize,” Jim commanded, not exactly sure if that was even the correct terminology but there was no detectable uncertainty in his voice.

“Initializing the process now,” Scotty confirmed, dragging three fingers down a touch screen to simulate sliding physical buttons.

A familiar, high-pitched sound filled the room as Jim’s body was overtaken by a glittering sheen of soft colors. His outline went from the relatively straightness of his Starfleet-issued uniform to an entirely different shape as garments began to materialize on his body.

Spock narrowed his eyebrows in curiosity when the captain’s silhouette suddenly began taking on a bizarre contour and crossed his arms.

“What in the…” Scotty began, noting the oddity too as it was happening before them, but he never had the opportunity to finish as the sparkling luster faded, restoring Jim with it.

As he reappeared, Jim saw McCoy’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets and Scotty’s mouth open widely.

He immediately looked down and was met with the sight of a low-cut black dress tightly hugging him from his shoulders to his thighs and then splaying out to his knees in waves of glamorous frills. A slit cut through the lower half, beginning at his hip. Lacy black garters with one bow each wrapped about his thighs and stretched in fishnet-style stockings down to his feet, which were adorned by shiny black stilettos.

“What in the hell is this?!” Jim exclaimed, his open palms raising into the air as he surveyed the damage.

“Ah don know, Sir!” Scotty immediately stammered with distress in his voice, shooting a glance down to the panel. “Ah punch’d in the correct settins!”

Jim shot a look to the mirrors surrounding him and noticed a sparkly band and pink flower had been added to his golden hair.

“Wha…?!” He snapped his face back to Scotty, expression darkening. “Explain.”

“Fascinating.”

Jim’s eyes shifted to Spock and he felt irritation surge through his veins “Spock, if that’s the only thing you have to say—”

“I may have a theory,” Spock interjected. “Mister Scott, you stated that the only crew members aboard the Enterprise to test this device were male. Quite tall males also, if you recall their appearances.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Scotty agreed, shifting his attention to Jim for a microsecond before back to Spock.

“It may well be that the computer was manually set to detect height and overrode the gender setting that was programmed,” Spock continued, his dark eyes returning to Jim and quickly surveying the length of his body—for scientific purposes, naturally. “Perhaps it was introduced so that the installation engineers needed not select the same parameters each time a test was performed.”

When Jim’s face contorted to reply, Spock inclined his chin and stated, “It is a common practice employed to improve efficiency during the quality assurance process.”

“Certainly sounds possible… an more important than that, probable!” Scotty affirmed with a nod, worry still written across his face and now audible in his tone. “Ah dare not try it again without confirming it first though.”

He pushed away from the console then. “Gimme a minute, sir! Ah’ll fetch ya a change of clothes!”

With that, he bolted through the door and disappeared, leaving Jim, Spock, and McCoy alone.

Jim caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again and muttered, “Unbelievable…” before he began pulling the fabric from his frame. He ceased his efforts when hit with the realization that he was wearing a lacy bra and, he could only imagine, the same style of panties. _Panties_! Annoyed, he kicked off the stilettos, walked to the mirror, and leaned against it, crossing his arms impatiently and huffing.

“It _was_ an intriguing error, Captain,” Spock suddenly commented. “You must admit that it is better to have identified the issue now, as opposed to during a situation with a real need.”

Jim lifted his face and flashed him a glare, his lips pulled taut and lower eyelids raising just slightly.

And then, there was McCoy, who had been silent during the entire ordeal and well-trained enough to stow his desire to burst into laughter. He simply clasped his hands behind him once more, allowed his eyes to travel back to the ceiling, and said, “It could’ve been new bio-beds, but noooo…”

 

_art by[petimetrek](http://petimetrek.tumblr.com)_


	15. A Sticky Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary/Prompt: Imagine Jim and Spock *somehow* getting their hands glued together (Chekov and Bones are getting in MAJOR trouble for that one) and having to deal with constantly holding hands around the ship for the next four days until they reached spacedock.

**A Sticky Situation**

“Okay, look. I’ll hold on to the desk and you pull in the other direction. That just might do the trick.”

“Jim.”

The sound of his name spoken so plainly had been an alarming distraction to the current state of his one-track mind and stopped him mid-step from pivoting to his desk. Jim’s face turned so his chin was parallel to his shoulder and his hazel eyes gazed down the sight of his outstretched left arm leading right to Spock.

Furrowed dark blond brows were complemented with a slight squint of the eyes as Jim asked with a hint of impatience, “What?”

Wearing the same neutral expression that often perpetuated across his features, Spock simply shook his head quickly before he responded, “I do not advise attempting this.”

Jim’s free hand rose into the air and his lips parted, indicating his intent to deliver some sort of argument, but he wasn’t quick enough. Spock continued, “Jim, I am certain that it is unnecessary to remind you that this specific type of cyanoacrylate requires a highly specialized medical-grade substance to dissolve. No amount of brute force will-“

“Spock, we have to try **something**!” Jim retorted and yanked the hand glued to his first officer’s down in frustration. “I’ve been coming up with ideas on how to get us out of this mess for an hour and you’ve been dismissing each of them. We can’t just idly sit around in my quarters for the next four days. The ship needs us and I need it. I **need** to be up on that bridge!”

There was something about those brilliant human eyes rife with a diverse palette of so much emotion that they were nearly unreadable and the manner in which Jim’s voice softened when he added, “So can’t you just try?”

Something jolted inside of Spock as he gazed down at his captain’s face. The inner corner of Jim’s eyebrows were raised just slightly, his neck extended and shoulders back as he leaned hopefully forward and awaited his answer.

Buried somewhere deeply within him, Spock was conscious of an attribute that he found profoundly dangerous, one he had tried many times to alter without success. What was once the cold, empty, and misunderstood terrain of his Vulcan soul had bloomed into a vast universe of warmth and life and acceptance with Jim as the nucleus. No, he could deny this man before him nothing.

Spock’s spine straightened and he elevated his chin regally before delivering his answer. “Very well.”

A jovial smile spread across Jim’s lips, his lower eyelids raising just a touch before he straightened himself. With a satisfied nod, he replied, “Thank you, Mister Spock. Now. Let’s see if we can’t get our hands separated.”

Spock swallowed hard as he observed Jim turn back to the desk and lean over it so that his stomach rested on the top. He was quite thankful that his Vulcan controls dampened the slew of inappropriate thoughts that passed through his mind at the pleasing scenery before him.

Jim’s right arm took a firm hold on the opposite edge of the desk and he looked back at Spock. “All right, I’m holding on. Pull.”

Never turning his face from Jim, Spock stepped back until their arms were only gently stretched. He then pulled back just a bit more before walking a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Jim demanded, turning his face to peer at the Vulcan over his shoulder.

“As I advised earlier, this method was unsuccessful.”

“Spock!” Jim groaned and let his forehead fall into his right shoulder against the desk. He closed his eyes feeling frustration mounting but carefully kept himself calm. “You didn’t even try. You need to _pull_!”

“Jim, you are aware that I am approximately three times stronger than you,” Spock replied, his tone remaining even. “I do not wish to see you injured.”

Jim’s eyelashes parted and he felt the annoyance that welled up within him diminish. Before he spoke, he took a moment to draw in a breath and release it.

“Okay,” he concurred. “You keep pulling until I tell you to stop. Is that better?”

“It is agreeable,” Spock replied with a single nod.

“All right. Get on with it,” Jim urged, the digits of his right hand tightening again on the far edge of the desk.

Spock stepped back until he was at the same gentle stretch as before and then increased it minutely.

“Keep going,” Jim told him.

He pulled more.

“Go ahead.”

He pulled even more, until both of their arms were very uncomfortably extended and strained.

“Keep… going,” Jim urged, his eyes closing and the muscles of his right arm tight as his fingers tightened on the desk.

When both of their limbs were trembling with the pressure, Jim spoke through gritted teeth, “Come on!!”

“Are you certain?”

“ _PULL!!_ ”

On that command, Spock heaved himself backwards quickly and with great force. Standing absolutely no chance against that amount of strength, the grasp Jim’s hand had on the desk was ripped away like it was absolutely nothing and his body was sent clumsily stumbling in the direction Spock pulled him.

Jim’s boots frantically hit the carpet as he attempted to gain balance when he thudded directly into Spock’s chest. His eyes shut in reflex as one cheek collided into the science blue uniform. He felt a strong arm quickly slip under one of his own and then across his back to support him and then all was silent.

Several heartbeats later, Jim slowly raised his face and looked up at Spock with his cheeks flushed from effort and perhaps even a bit of disbelief at where this experiment landed him.

In that instant, the hands that were still glued together were much less important a fact than the current proximity of their lips. Jim could actually feel Spock’s breath gently whisper across his face and he felt his pulse elevate.

“I informed you that this would not be successful,” Spock quietly declared, his dark eyes staring deeply into his captain’s, but the way in which he spoke carried no irritation or arrogance.

Jim shook his head just slightly before he softly rasped out, “…I’m sorry.”

“If your wish is to go to the bridge, I will accompany you willingly,” Spock continued. “While this circumstance is quite uncomfortable and will undoubtedly result in an influx of hearsay among the crew, I would not freely deny the Enterprise the captain it needs.” If Jim thought it was impossible for Spock’s voice to become any gentler, he was proven wrong. “…Sir.”

Jim’s face slowly lowered as the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile, his forehead bumping into Spock’s chin for just a moment. He stood in his quarters for over an hour trying to figure out a way to separate himself from Spock, never considering that Spock might actually agree to just make do with the situation and walk around like this on the ship for the next four days. His heart swelled.

Jim closed his eyes and then the fingers of his glued palm folded between the empty spaces of Spock’s in a tight squeeze. When he looked up again, he allowed a full smile to blossom across his face and then let his lips gently press against the ones waiting to accept his own. It was a soft kiss that ended much too soon.

“Thank you,” Jim mumbled, his lips moving against Spock’s before they retreated.

The two stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer before they unraveled and then readied to take their leave.

Before they approached the door, Jim stopped and pulled on Spock’s hand, wordlessly asking him to do the same. Spock obliged and gazed down at his captain.

“For what it’s worth, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be stuck to for the next four days,” Jim said with a laugh.

Spock simply raised one eyebrow before the door swished open and both men disappeared into the hallway together.

 

 

[ ](http://artsy-spockyyy.tumblr.com/image/91884609531)

_art by[spockshair](http://spockshair.tumblr.com)_


	16. A Soft Place to Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary/Prompt: Imagine the Enterprise getting some turbulence and Spock (since he’s always standing by Jim’s chair) gets knocked into Jim’s lap.

**A Soft Place to Land**

Jim’s attention lifted up and over his shoulder. His lips pulled into a mischievous smile for several seconds before he replied, “Too emotional, you say? You have my sympathies, Mister Spock.”

Standing to the captain’s right with his hands comfortably folded behind his back, Spock held his gaze, wearing his classic non-expressive face until one pointed eyebrow slid up.

“Unnecessary, Captain,” his deep voice protested calmly with a slight shake of his head. “Nowhere else am I needed so desperately than amongst a ship of illogical humans.”

Conspicuous amusement never left Jim’s features as human eyelashes fluttered in rapid succession. His smile widened before simply replying, “But of course.”

Sulu’s attention turned ever so slightly to the side, catching Chekov’s wandering eyes. Mirroring his counterpart’s subtle action, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards into a grin–a suggestively _knowing_ smirk plastered across his face.

By nature, the captain was a jovial, friendly individual who was apparently born with the natural talent of lighting up a room. Time and time again, he proved that he was capable of alleviating any crew member’s anxiety with one of his gentle smiles and warm comments; somehow, it took no further effort on his part other than just existing to set others at ease.

Though Spock never appeared harried, it was clear that even he wasn’t immune to Jim’s magical presence. His face had a tendency to abandon its typical blank appearance while they were conversing–and for a Vulcan, that was something enormous. Or at least Sulu thought so.

The smalltalk the two shared seemed to always go much further than casual conversation, even though what they spoke of was nothing suggestive in nature. There was some kind of glaring chemistry between the captain and his first officer that had made some of the crew suspect they were involved in more than just a professional relationship. Sulu happened to be one who shared that supposition.

It was all hearsay and no one’s business, though. Whatever the truth actually was, it would never clearly be made known. Despite the micro-expressions he granted the captain, Spock was the perfect Vulcan. That meant he was fiercely private, and though Jim seemed to bring out something within him that no other could, Spock would never be so careless to hint that there was something actually much deeper going on between them.

That never stopped anyone from speculating, though.

Just before Sulu was about to return his gaze back to his station, the surprise of his life struck–relentlessly and without warning.

The Enterprise suddenly collided with an incredible force, smashing against its right side and veering the starship made of tritanium off to a left hand tilt as if it were a toy.

The cacophony of utter chaos broke out over the ship’s tumultuous quaking: crew members shouting and objects crashing as they fell clear across the bridge. Sulu grabbed on to his station with a sudden death grip and miraculously managed to keep himself in his chair, even as Chekov’s body crashed into his. The red alert indicator was set off, a mocking staccato sound that blared out the fact that danger was present. _No shit_.

Gritting his teeth and pushing back hard against the other helmsman, Sulu yelled out with a quick glance at his equipment, “Ion storm!!”

“Change course!” he heard Kirk shout over the commotion. “Now, Sulu!”

Sulu’s hands haphazardly were thrown over his controls, Chekov’s weight against him and the turbulence so great that making sure he was hitting the right ones was a massive challenge. However, if there was one thing Hikaru Sulu excelled at, it was piloting the Enterprise; almost as if he and the vessel were one, he was able to quickly and accurately plot a new course that would send her careening out of the storm.

The warp core ignited and the listing ship suddenly shot off into the backdrop of stars, leaving traces of streaking colors in its wake on the rear viewscreen. Balance was instantly restored to the chaos that had suddenly struck, and an eerie silence followed immediately after.

As the vessel righted itself upon its speedy exit of the ion storm, Sulu gently pushed Chekov to his feet and turned around in one fluid movement to confirm that they had successfully made it out.

“We’re out of it…” he began as he quickly shifted his attention to the center seat, but wasn’t exactly prepared for what he would witness. “…Sir.”

The turbulence had apparently tossed Spock right across the side of Jim’s chair and landed him directly in the captain’s lap. Considering how Chekov had been flung to the side, it wasn’t exactly unexpected; however, Kirk’s arms were tightly wrapped around his first officer.

Surely, the captain would have done the same for anyone, but there was something about the way he held on to Spock so tightly that alarmed Sulu. It wasn’t just a steadying grasp. It was clearly  _protective_ , his arms wrapped around his midsection and fingers digging into the science blue uniform.

Spock’s eyebrows had raised and the slightest tinge of green flushed across his cheeks. As the tremors quickly died down, Sulu saw him toss himself forward, effectively throwing himself out of the captain’s arms. He stood shakily, grabbing to one side of the chair to steady himself with haste.

“How far are we off course?” Kirk demanded, his attention solely focused on the dark-haired helmsman.

Sulu swallowed and turned back to his station, announcing the current coordinates.

“Get us back on course, Mister Chekov, and for God’s sake, avoid that storm,” Jim ordered and then stole a glance up at Spock who had finally righted himself.

The captain’s mouth was opened slightly and his brows were elevated before the gaze he shared with his first officer was torn away. Both surveyed the condition of the bridge before Spock made a beeline for his station.

“I certainly _will_ avoid that, Sir!” the young ensign exclaimed as he slipped back into his seat.

“Scotty, damage report,” Sulu heard the captain speak next. He kept his attention turned forward, daring not to face Jim again as his heart pounded and the red hue of embarrassment stained itself across his cheeks.

It could have been that the lack of attention at the helm landed them in such a compromising predicament, considering Spock hadn’t been at his post. And speaking of him…

Sulu awkwardly let his eyes wander to the science station for just a moment. Emotionless, deadpan Commander Spock had let on perhaps a little more than he wished in those few seconds of surprise… That green flush across his face spoke more than words ever could.

Perhaps there was some merit to what they had all thought about the two of them, after all…

Sulu’s thoughts were interrupted by Scotty’s reply over the comm, “She held up juist fine, sir, but who in th’ world flew us thro’ an ion storm?!”

With a straightened spine, Sulu decided he would leave any consideration for when he was off duty.

 

_art by[jimsdeadbones](http://jimsdeadbones.tumblr.com)_


	17. TSFS Scene Study

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A retelling from a scene from The Search for Spock in which Jim has just defeated Kruge and is reunited with Spock.

**TSFS Scene Study**

The hammering of the heart within his chest echoed in his ears, louder than any drumbeat. Despite the cacophony of destruction encompassing him, that rapid pounding against his ribcage was the most resounding noise of all.

He was on autopilot, scaling the short cliff. It was one hand and then the other as his fingertips delved into soil and against rock, before each palm was thrown over the top ledge. His digits clawed into the dirt there, and he pulled upward with all of his might.

As Jim heaved himself over the side and back to higher ground, the raging fires around him were the last things on his mind. He was numb to the cuts and bruises he had acquired, numb to the triumph of eliminating Kruge, indifferent to the trickle of blood on one side of his face and the grit beneath his nails.

He was impervious to the Genesis planet, trembling violently under the colossal stress that had mounted and finally reached the breaking point—unshaken by the crust that had begun to split, and the plumes of fire rising through the chasms as this ill-fated experiment self destructed.

No, the only thought Jim’s mind could process, the only sight his eyes could see, the _only_ thing that truly mattered was the unmoving form of Spock directly ahead of him. Spock, who had been reborn and given a second chance, still remained upon his side—exactly as he had been left by the others. He hadn’t moved at all.

Was he breathing? Had he been injured by falling debris as Jim went hand-to-hand with Kruge?

Even as tremors wracked the unsteady surface, Jim managed to push himself to his feet and keep his balance for the short distance he traversed. His black shoes swiftly but shakily moved one before the other, as he tottered to the still frame of his bondmate.

Reaching out with one hand, Jim grasped a black-clad shoulder while falling to his knees at Spock’s side. Afraid to move him so suddenly in the event he’d been injured, Jim squinted his eyes against the heat and lowered his head.

“ _Spock_.”

Jim hadn’t even realized he’d spoken his name.

Spock’s dark eyes were closed, half of his unscathed face pressed into the folded red jacket Jim had slipped beneath his head earlier. The ends of his short black hair moved as the air was displaced and stirred up by both breeze and heat; Jim quickly ran a hand through it, over that familiar pointed ear. There was no visible damage.

“Spock!” This time, the shouting of his name was a conscious attempt to entice those eyes into opening. They didn’t.

Jim’s palm slipped away from the soft black hair it cupped, and then ran down Spock’s side quickly. His hand stopped its descent only when it reached the location above the Vulcan heart.

It was beating.

Spock was alive and without injury, and yet unresponsive still. Jim kept his hand over that precious heart, as if he could drink in the steady rhythm it beat to—as if the same blood flowed between them by that simple action.

His hazel eyes lifted as he quickly began to consider his next move, when he caught sight of the dirt close to them starting to crack and divide. It was the only indication he needed. Immediately, Jim slipped his hands beneath Spock’s arms and he hauled them both up into a standing position, moments before a pillar of flame shot out of the newly-formed gash in the ground.

Stumbling backwards to avoid being burned, Jim caught Spock’s body falling against his like a dead weight, and threw his arms around him tightly to support him. In one fluid motion, his lips fell upon an exposed shoulder and he closed his eyes for a fleeting moment—reveling in the impossible feeling of having Spock back his arms. And yet, it was real.

Reality came crashing down at warp speed. _All of this was real_ , including the death throes of this planet tearing itself apart, and the timer was ticking.

Keeping Spock balanced upon his bare feet, Jim quickly elevated to his tiptoes and placed a single kiss on one temple, before steadying himself. He was again forced to close his eyes and turn his face from the heat of undulating fire. An imperfect circle of flame trapped them in their current position, and seemed to grow larger and more violent with every moment Spock spent in the protection of his arms.

Desperately, Jim’s searched for an out—any nearby safe place they could retreat to that would protect them until the crew could beam them to the ship. However, everything surrounding them was flame and destruction—burning trees and collapsing rocks, offering no sign of even temporary shelter.

It occurred to Jim that his crew might have been overwhelmed after being brought up; after all, they hadn’t known how many Klingons remained aboard the ship.

And it was in that moment, with that realization, that the entire universe shrunk infinitesimally—until all that Jim was aware of was the weight of Spock in his arms and the Klingon communication device that remained in his pocket. Jim swiped at the alien technology, freeing it from his attire, and with a dangerous throw of the dice, he pressed down on a button. Desperate hope swelled within him that it was the correct one.

Trying to reproduce the exact wording Kruge had used earlier, Jim shouted as best he could pronounce, “ _Maltz! Jol yichu!_ ”

Slowly, Jim lowered the device as he observed the ledge of this high cliff they stood upon beginning to crumble. A split in the rock stretched forward to their position, the ground on both sides of it tumbling inward as the entire formation started its ultimate collapse.

Jim cupped the back of Spock’s head with one hand, and then raised it, shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he watched their deaths racing toward them.

Their bodies were suddenly overtaken by an iridescent sheen, and Jim closed his eyes, hugging Spock’s body to his own as the transporter read their patterns and suddenly claimed them—just before the dirt they stood upon caved in.

And then, they were gone.

_This time, I’ll never let you out of my sight. I’ll protect you, never let anyone, anything hurt you. I’ll keep you safe forever. Forever._

As they rematerialized on the transporter platform, Jim dropped the communication device immediately, and grabbed a disruptor that rested on a nearby console. He aimed it at the dark gray doors that were about to split open and expose him and Spock to an unknown amount of enemies.

Forever started now, and it wasn’t about to end any time soon. Jim would make damn sure of that.


	18. Reestablishing the Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Spirk fluff. Prompt: #21 of the domesticity meme, which is “Staring into each other’s eyes.”

**Reestablishing the Bond**

Their condo. Their chairs. Their sitting room. Their bed.

The kitchen. The fireplace. The shower. The study.

His possessions. His clothing. His pillow. His _place_.

A thick, silver ring buried in a nightstand drawer.

They were all fragments of a time long gone—ghosts and relics of the person Spock once was. They were the keys to his past and his future: the answers to all of the questions that would make him whole once more and undo the disconnect that had occurred with the transferring of his katra.

And yet, Spock had been paralyzed within this space for the entirety of the time since he returned to Earth with his shipmates… since he was reunited in this life of togetherness with Jim.

But things weren’t as they had been.

Starfleet had granted an extended leave of three months to the heroes of the HMS Bounty while their new Enterprise was undergoing its completion. However, the last twenty seven days had been anything but restful as Spock wandered the space of this condominium trying to piece his shattered existence together.

He couldn’t.

Similar to the phantom limb phenomenon that was eradicated long ago by medical advances, Spock was haunted by the constant thought that he should feel _something_ , and yet all he experienced was the sensation of what used to be.

There was a bizarre sense that he should have been horrified at the fact that he felt nothing when he reached for one of the antique paper books that belonged to Jim, when he felt a warm blanket slip over his shoulders, when he lied in their bed and was surrounded by the scent of the man he once loved very much, when he simply _existed_ in Jim’s presence…

His memories were the only concrete things he could anchor himself to, and they told him that these seemingly trivial situations should have elicited some form of emotional connection within him, based on past experience.

But Spock felt nothing but emptiness. It was as if the wires within his mind had been crossed and mangled, reconfigured in a way that would leave him in this state of emotional isolation for the rest of his life.

It was ironic to think that _this_ was what he wished for when he was younger—and now, when he didn’t want it at all, it was all he had.

And then there was Jim, his bondmate, who had been much too accommodating. He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t overstepped the boundaries. He hadn’t even slept in the same bed for Spock’s own comfort. Jim insisted he was doing well when someone asked, but there was a sadness about him that never seemed to fade—-even when he smiled.

And Spock hated himself for it.

What kind of mate was he, to enslave his other half when there was no bond to offer? The link that Jim and he once shared was unparalleled in beauty, a sanctuary rife with liveliness and the unfathomable adoration each harbored for the other.

But now it was barren and lifeless, a field of damp ashes and solitude in which Spock was condemned to wander. And he would—aimlessly and lost for eternity.

~

It hit him in the moment when he was at his weakest, when he was about to abandon everything he had ever known. In that very second, every control, every shield, every boundary faltered and crumbled to nothingness as Spock’s hands flew up to grab his head and he crashed roughly onto his knees.

Somewhere far off in the distance, he could hear Jim yelling his name, but he was unable to respond. All he could do was fall forward, his forehead colliding with the hardwood floor of their bedroom as he doubled over.

Paralyzed by the chain reaction of sparks going off in his head, Spock’s lips parted widely and he choked out a sound of pure agony. His digits tightened even further in his hair and twitched as his entire frame began shuddering as the flood of raw emotion overtook him for the first time since he had awaken on Vulcan.

Spock felt two hands grab his shoulders and pull him from his knees. His palms slipped from his head and covered his face as his body was pulled to the side, torso crashing into the security of two arms that cradled him and immediately drawing him to a warm chest.

He trembled within Jim’s embrace, feeling one hand gently pushing on the side of his head and holding him close while he was rocked back and forth gently. A pair of lips were pressed to his skin just above his eyebrow as a mantra of reassurance was chanted in a voice that was soft and yet so full of emotion.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, Spock. I’m here, it’s okay. Let it happen.”

Jim’s words were comfort that wrapped around Spock’s soul in soft ribbons, his essence embracing Spock’s own as their bond reawakened and entwined its way about them both. As it rushed in to recreate the bridge between them and usher in the emotion that quickly filled the gaping chasms of nothingness, Spock could do little more than follow Jim’s lead; he melted entirely into his arms, into his mind as it opened little by little—only to find he was still welcomed in both places.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, heart hammering so rapidly that it nearly escaped him, and Spock finally just let go.

The universe of ashes suddenly erupted into flames.

~

It was some time before Spock’s body had stopped shaking, before he was able to establish that he was in control of himself again.

His spiny, thin digits slid down his face slowly—first exposing his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his chin, until they fell to his chest.

When Spock felt Jim’s lips leaving his forehead as he drew back, his lashes parted and he was met immediately with the sight of unblinking hazel eyes that were glassy and full of tears.

Spock’s expression immediately softened, his brows drawing in and up in the slightest as his lips parted. He stared back into the gaze that only further reaffirmed that their bond had actually come back to life.

Despite all that had happened and all he had guilted himself for, Jim was still in love with him. He still accepted him, still wanted him. And though he felt undeserving of it, Spock wanted it more than anything. He had denied himself this from the moment he learned that Jim was his sa-telsu—questioned his worthiness after what he had put his mate through.

And he never believed that after all that had happened, Jim would still desire him. Subconsciously afraid to face that consequence, Spock had unknowingly blocked out all of the feelings that were associated with Jim—which left him emotionally inept and utterly lost for all of this time.

But not anymore.

One hand reached up and grabbed tightly to Jim’s shirt, digits curling into it and clenching the material.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, his head still cradled in the crook of his mate’s arm.

Jim’s mouth opened just slightly and he involuntarily blinked, two droplets pushed out of each eye falling and hitting Spock’s cheek.

“Jim,” he repeated, as he released the shirt and brought his palm up to his cheek, long fingers splaying out just below the rounded ear.

They continued staring at each other, silently speaking with their eyes, until Jim suddenly pulled Spock into him again. His face fell into his hair and he choked out a sob.

Just as Spock had assumed Jim no longer wanted him, Jim thought the same. And now, they clung to each other with the realization they had both been wrong on the understanding of their relationship for the second time in their lives.

Spock’s rebirth hadn’t occurred on Genesis. It wasn’t on Vulcan, after the fal-tor-pan. It wasn’t during his relearning of Vulcan disciplines or his acceptance that emotions were just as much a part of him.

It wasn’t until this very moment, as he lay collapsed in Jim’s arms on their bedroom floor, when everything came together again—when he understood once more what it was like to really feel and belong and love.

And in that moment, Spock knew that he would never be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be a full-length, developed story some day. I have some ideas. :3


	19. Awkward Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Written for the kissing prompt.

**Awkward Kiss**

“Captain Kirk, the Ambassador and his wife _are_ my parents.”

… _What_?

Jim stared at Spock. His eyelashes fluttered and the corners of his lips twitched in the slightest. Well. _This_ was certainly awkward. His mind quickly shifted and he took control of the situation.

“Ambassador Sarek, Lady Amanda,” Jim offered with a warm grin, as though he hadn’t missed a beat. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll be delighted to show you around the Enterprise myself.”

“Captain Kirk!” a crew member suddenly called from the hangar, and jogged toward him with a PADD. She arrived at his side, offering a polite smile and nod toward Sarek and Amanda, before turning to face Jim and extending the device in his direction. “Before you leave, please sign off on this arrival document and I’ll have Ensign Boyer run it over to Engineering.”

Jim accepted the tablet and took the stylus in his hand. He signed his name on the line and then clutched the PADD to his chest. “I’ll do you one better, Lieutenant. As I’m headed that way, I’ll take it there myself.”

Her face brightened marginally—an obvious display of being pleased with who she was serving under. She replied, “Yes, Sir,” and took her leave.

Jim faced Sarek and Amanda once more with an apologetic look. “Procedure and policy, as I’m sure you both understand well.”

Sarek’s eyes closed and he dropped his chin in a single nod.

“Well, shall we?” Jim asked. “If you’ll follow Doctor McCoy through this corridor, we’ll be on our way.”

As he lifted his arm in the direction of the entrance, the stylus fell from the PADD and bounced in the middle of the tight hallway, right between Jim and Spock.

Out of instinct, they both immediately reached down to retrieve the pen and their hands touched by sheer accident—specifically, Jim’s fingertips brushed over the back of Spock’s own digits.

Spock’s eyes widened and he retracted his hand with so much force that his elbow slammed into the wall behind him. He stood stiffly and swallowed hard, reaching behind and pulling down the bottom of his tunic. He then turned entirely away from everyone and faced the corridor.

Jim was slowly rising back to his feet by this time, and could barely contain his confusion at that sudden overreaction.

He extended his hand once more and nodded. “Please.”

Amanda was looking at him suspiciously, her eyes soft and the corners of her ruby lips lifting.

“Come, my wife,” Sarek announced, offering a hand with two fingers extended in her direction. Amanda never broke eye contact with Jim as she slowly—deliberately—returned the gesture and then cast her gaze elsewhere as she began walking in time with her husband after McCoy.

Jim watched them wordlessly pass right by their son, who was still facing the open doorway and standing as stiff as a statue. From the side, Jim could see that his cheek and the tip of his ear, for some reason, were now stained a deep green.

_And then he realized._

He looked down at his own hand still holding the stylus for but a moment before his lips pulled taut and he rushed right by Spock, following after the group and instantly making small talk.

It was too late, though. No amount of conversation about ship layout, warp cores, engineering personnel, or standard procedure could eliminate the fact that Amanda had become privy to something incredibly interesting.

And she made sure to show that to Jim every time their eyes met.


	20. "I Almost Lost You" Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Written for the kissing prompt.
> 
> Warnings: Alludes to death and drowning, but it doesn't actually happen.

**"I Almost Lost You" Kiss**

The onyx appendages of oblivion rose into the air before Spock like ribbons and approached en masse to slip themselves around his frame. They twisted and turned, fastening to every curve, limb, and expanse of space that made up the corporeal chassis carrying his most precious possession of all: his katra. He felt them tugging on him, slowly coaxing him toward an edge which bled obsidian into a universe of color—the line that served as the divide between life and a void infinite in blackness.

Spock heard his name spilled over one ear with a frigid whisper that expanded and cascaded over the entirety of his frame. But he didn’t shiver, and he didn’t resist the force pulling him forward. His half-lidded eyes simply gazed out stoically, unaffected by the blotches of iridescent supernovae burning out one-by-one as he neared closer and closer to that line… to that other dimension calling to him.

And when Spock finally stood on that precipice of the vast unknown, another phantom limb came forth, emerging from great emptiness and meeting him. However, unlike the others that bound and rendered him paralyzed in the face of his own mortality, this apparition had the consistency of smoke. It curved as it neared him, brushing across his lips in an icy kiss before slipping between them.

Spock’s head fall back, his mouth being forced open wider and his eyes falling shut as he felt it slide down his throat to enter his lungs—drawing the very breath from them and beckoning, beckoning, beckoning, louder and louder, stronger and stronger…

The ribbons unraveled from him suddenly, slipping away and abandoning him. He lurched forward—deserted and left to plunge headfirst into a sea of nothingness all on his own.

The moment before he fell, something inexplicable happened. He was yanked away from the edge.

~

Spock’s eyes squeezed together tightly as a cough exploded from his lips and a mouthful of liquid was ejected from between them. He heaved and choked out strangled expulsions of air, the action abruptly making him conscious of something delivering hard pushes against his heart.

The external pressure on his side quickly stopped.

With a shudder, Spock coughed several more times and then his eyelashes slowly parted, his blurry vision seeing two faces belonging to Jim close to his own. It hurt to breathe but he kept drawing in air, squinting until his eyes finally focused and he was able to clearly recognize the anguish in his captain’s expression.

Water was dripping from Jim’s locks of golden hair and he was leaning over Spock, breathing hard and staring at him with grief-stricken disbelief. But there was also hope in those hazel eyes, glassy from tears welled within them. One involuntarily fell from each when Jim blinked, the heavy droplets hitting Spock’s face.

 _Why?_ He had never seen those beautiful eyes shed sorrow before like this.

Though his lungs ached, Spock finally manage to rasp out a soft, confused whisper. All he could ask was, “Jim?”

Within an instant, he felt his torso desperately dragged up by the shoulders and pulled flush against Jim’s soaking wet body. Two arms wrapped around him and hugged so tightly that he found it difficult to breathe, but somehow, he couldn’t resist this. Spock simply shut his eyes tightly and gasped for air against the sodden material of Jim’s gold tunic.

When Jim finally released him from his embrace, his hands immediately slid up and took Spock’s cheeks, holding them firmly. Time seemed to slow to a halt right before Spock felt his lips drawn into the sweetest, most loving kiss he had ever experienced.

It was a kiss that conveyed an unfathomable amount of feeling, that told him how much he was treasured and adored—that assured he would be protected and loved and cherished and worshiped until, until…

They broke apart and Jim pressed Spock’s face back into his chest, keeping him close with an arm around his shoulders and a hand cupping the back of his head.

It was several moments before Jim finally spoke, but when he did, the amount of emotion present in his words reverberated through every single fiber of Spock’s being,causing him to shiver.

Jim’s digits tightened in his short black hair they had buried themselves in. “If you ever, _ever_ , do that to me again, Spock, I swear to God!”

As Spock panted and tried to understand what Jim meant by his unfinished threat, a calm noise in the distance inspired his closed eyes to open. He looked off to the side to see gentle ocean waves rolling into a sandy shore—the same shore they were currently on.

That’s when he remembered.

Their shuttle had been critically damaged by a collision with debris, just outside the atmosphere of this M-class planet. They had been forced to crash land the craft, fortunate that they had entered above a large body of water. Spock suddenly recalled the sound of an alarm blaring and the feeling of clutching tightly to Jim’s hand as the sea neared, remembered the force of the impact—but nothing more.

…Except for sound of his name being whispered and the arms that reached out to pull him toward a dimension he could never return from. But the voices of those who called to him were nowhere as sweet as the sound of Jim’s own, and the arms dragging him off not as strong as the ones that protectively held him now.

And that was the moment when Spock knew he owed his life to Jim, that the very reason his heart still beat at this moment was because he saved him from the waters of the sea. He closed his eyes and his hands shakily lifted, hooking into Jim’s shirt and holding on tight.

If Spock had it his way, he would never let go. Until when?

He filled in what Jim had left blank when their lips collided before. Until the end of time. And even on from then.


	21. Angry Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Written for the kissing prompt. …with a ton of sexual tension on top. ;D

**Angry Kiss**

Swallowing the feeling of pure hysteria coming on, Jim’s hand shot out and latched to Spock’s bicep, hauling him out of his chair and taking a tight hold to his arms. He gave a stiff shake, staring deeply into those brown eyes, and for the first time ever, did nothing to conceal that he was desperate—afraid, even.

But Spock seemed unaffected by this, his brows furrowing at some inner epiphany he was having. “She married my father, and lived on a planet where love— _emotion_ , is bad taste.”

Jim’s grasp tightened on him, and he shook him hard once more.

“We’ve got to a risk a full power start!” he shouted in anguish, his eyes softening as they begged Spock to listen, to snap out of his trance. “The engines were shut off! No time to regenerate!”

Impassively, Spock stared at him, as if everything he’d just spoken meant nothing. Jim roughly shoved him back and pulled him forward again. “Do you _hear_ me?!” When he still observed no change in that blank expression, he repeated the grave situation they faced, emphasizing and delivering a forceful jolt to Spock’s arms with each important word.

“We’ve _got_ , to _risk_ , a _full_ , _power_ , _start_!”

“I respected my father, our customs…” Spock continued, shaking his head slowly. “I was _ashamed_ of my Earth bl—”

The slap that landed on his left cheek stopped him mid-sentence, clearly rendering him surprised. Jim dropped his hand, breathing hard and studying Spock, hoping the action had been enough to bring him to his senses.

They stared at each other, chests rising and falling significantly.

“Jim…” As Spock’s voice softened, Jim’s eyes studied him with despair that he still hadn’t broken through. “When I feel friendship for you…” His brows narrowed. “I’m ashamed.”

Another slap met his cheek. “You’ve got—!” And another. “—to hear me!”

When Jim raised his hand for the third time, Spock grabbed it with his own.

“We need a formula!” Jim shouted, his fingers locking rigidly between Spock’s and squeezing with all their strength. “We’ve _got_ to risk implosion, it’s the only way!”

Spock’s grasp tightened and his arm shook, as if he were fighting off something internally. “It’s never… been… done!” He dropped their hands deliberately and pried his away.

“Understand, Jim?” he whispered, wringing his digits and starting to circle him. Jim turned with Spock, out of breath and desperate to break the spell that had muddled the acute mind of his logical first officer. His hazel eyes pleaded as they followed his slow movement.

“I spent a whole lifetime, learning to hide my feelings.”

That was the line that finally did it. Jim belted Spock clear across the face so hard that his head snapped to the side, a sharp stinging sensation left on his cheek in its wake. A flash of rage swelled within Spock, his eyes widening for a moment, and then his hands lashed out.

For a split second, Jim thought that Spock would hit him back and he flinched, but instead, he felt himself taken roughly by his gold tunic and dragged forward, as if he weighed no more than a doll.

Jim’s eyes snapped open when their lips crashed together. He raised his own hands and began pushing himself away frantically. Spock responded by clenching even tighter to his shirt, stretching and pulling the fabric until one shoulder seam started ripping apart.

Jim felt Spock’s tongue force into his mouth at that moment, and he took fistfuls of the blue uniform, pulling hard and then slamming his palms against his chest.

He found himself released for a moment, only long enough to be shoved backwards atop the conference table. Spock was immediately upon him, one knee pushing between Jim’s legs and spreading them. He pressed another firm kiss to his mouth as two hands slid under the gold tunic to travel up those impossibly warm sides.

“Always wanting. Can’t—can’t ever…” Spock rasped out against his captain’s lips and then his dark eyes opened. He froze in place.

“…have,” Jim finished in a broken whisper.

And suddenly, Spock found himself extremely aware of what his current position was.

He recoiled as if he were afraid, his hands pulling from the warm skin he had only dreamed of caressing. He stumbled backwards for several steps, staring at Jim laid out on the table.

“No,” Spock said below his breath and immediately began wringing his hands again as his senses slowly returned.

“ _You_ can’t?” Jim demanded loudly, chest still rising and falling as he stared at the ceiling. He shoved himself up then, his hands slamming on the surface of the desk near his hips. “ _You_ can’t ever have what you want, Spock?”

Spock simply shook his head. “Jim, I—”

The bosun whistle sounded off then. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.” It was Uhura’s voice. “Engineer needs to know if you’ve found Mister Spo—”

“Yes, I’ve _found_ Mister Spock, for all the good it does me!” Jim yelled, fury in his voice as he slammed the comm link off. “For all the good it’ll ever do!” He stalked around to the other side of the table now, looking at his hands. “I’ve got it. The disease.”

Jim’s hands dropped and he looked around the room helplessly. “You want to talk about love, Spock? About being denied it? You’re better off that way.”

He tensely turned in a full circle, his eyes wandering around toward the ceiling. “You’re better off. We all are, especially me. This vessel… I give, she takes. She won’t permit me my life. I’ve got to live _hers_ … Only hers.”

“Jim,” Spock breathed, his head falling to the side slightly.

“She won’t let me love anyone else, put anyone else before her,” Jim continued, his eyes slowly falling to meet Spock’s. “Even if he’s standing right in front of me.”

There was a moment of silence before Spock tried again, “ _Jim_.” His gaze followed as Jim began stalking back around the table and closing the space between them. “There is an intermix formula,” he continued, his breathing beginning to regulate.

“I don’t know why it’s called _she_ , Spock.”

“It’s never been tested,” Spock urged, staying still as Jim continued to approach him. “A relation between time and antimatter.”

“I can’t hold her, can’t kiss her,” Jim went on, defeat and sorrow written across his face. “Can’t love her. No beach to walk on… A captain is never permitted.”

The gaze they held was intense and Jim reached out to Spock’s arm again. However, it stopped right before contact was made. “No matter how badly he wants,” he finished, barely above a whisper.

The door slid open then and Scotty ran through.

“Captain!” he exclaimed and immediately fell back on his heels. The look of despair on Jim’s face caught him completely off guard.

“Scotty!” Jim breathed out and stumbled several steps away from Spock.

Spock slowly arrived at Scotty’s side, his transfixed awe never breaking away Jim. “Standby to intermix,” he calmly said. “I shall call in the formula from the bridge.”

“I’ve got to hang on,” Jim stammered to them both. “Got to… save her. The crew, tell them… clear the corridors, the turbo lift.” A pause and he lifted his brows. “…Hurry.”

Spock and Scotty immediately turned at that command, quickly walking through the doorway and leaving Jim to collect himself.

Trembling now, Jim gazed around the room again, at the steel walls of this silver maiden named _Enterprise_ , and whispered, “Never lose you.”

His eyes fell on the door Spock had walked through. “…Or you.”


	22. Jealous Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Written for the kissing prompt. This picks up where Wolf in the Fold leaves off. :D

**Jealous Kiss**

From his position on the transporter steps, an amused laugh fell from Jim’s lips as he took in the current deliriously happy conditions of McCoy and Scotty. Once he got his fill of them, his attention diverted to Spock, standing observantly behind the control panel.

“Well, Mister Spock, for the next five or six hours, we’re gonna have the happiest crew in space!” Jim declared with a wide smile, and then shook his head slightly. “Of course, that means we won’t get much work done.”

Spock’s arms were folded and he leaned his head back just a touch. “Captain, since you came to Argelius to rest,” he spoke matter-of-factly, but his words carried with them a pleasant sound, “I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity.” His eyebrows crept up.

The weight of Jim’s body fell back on his heels for a moment as his face brightened and he huffed. Raising a hand, he stepped off the transporter and made his way toward the station.

“That’s a splendid idea, Mister Spock!” he exclaimed and leaned his forearms against the top edge of the panel. His eyes met Spock’s and both hands were in the air as he squinted in attempt to articulate his idea for how to spend their downtime. “I know a café where the women are so—”

“I know the place, Jim!” McCoy yelled from behind.

Scotty’s eyes widened. “Let’s go see!”

Jim’s chin hit his shoulder as he looked back at the pair who were currently higher than ships in orbit around Earth. His voice dropped to a more authoritative, serious tone. “You gentlemen in your condition? Don’t be ridiculous.”

He brought his face forward and began again, excitement returning to his voice. “Mister Spock, this café has women that are so—”

Spock stood there, arms still folded across his chest. His eyebrows were slightly raised and lips almost pursed as his head cocked from left to right, listening most intently to Jim.

That expression spoke louder than any vocal response could have. Jim trailed right off, leaving his thought hanging. His eyes fell for a moment and he expelled a breath through his nose. When his gaze crept back up to find Spock’s unamused attention still on him, his hands dropped to dangle over the top of the control panel and his shoulders slumped.

“No, I guess not,” he finished drably and then quickly turned again, stealing a glance at McCoy and Scotty. They stood there smiling at each other, not a care in the world and no more privy than before to anything they shouldn’t know about Jim and Spock’s personal lives. Jim exhaled a sigh as he looked down at his hands for a moment.

“Alone?” he asked rhetorically. He shook his head again before pivoting and slumping towards the doorway.

The entrance slid open and he held his hands out to it, offering in defeat, “Gentlemen…”

With a hearty laugh and absolutely no idea what had just transpired, Scotty strode out into the corridor, followed by McCoy and Spock. Jim offered a wave to Lieutenant Kyle, and then the transporter room became silent.

~

The door to the captain’s quarters opened, allowing entrance to both Jim and Spock, before sliding shut and locking again.

“Well, Mister Spock, since you insisted—” Jim began lightly, but was cut off by a hand catching his wrist. A gentle tug brought him into Spock’s clutches and he felt those stiff hands landing on his shoulders.

Spock leaned down, pushing his lips against Jim’s in a strangely forceful kiss. It actually caught Jim by surprise, since he had always been the one to instigate this type of physical contact between them. However, he certainly wasn’t about to complain. Going along with it, his shoulders relaxed and his hands took hold of Spock’s narrow waist.

A low groan escaped him at the feeling of Spock’s tongue pushing against his mouth. Of course, Jim accepted that too, his own meeting its counterpart and fighting with it. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he started to become conscious of the movement of Spock’s hands; one slipped around his shoulders and crushed their chests together, while the other traveled down, cupping the stiffness forming in his trousers.

The action itself was hot—and simultaneously distracting for how extremely out of character it was. They’d been secretly together now for several months, and this was the first time Spock had ever came at Jim so strongly; something was clearly amiss.

Spock’s lips broke away, and he began immediately sinking to his knees. However, Jim suddenly grabbed his arms and stopped him.

Slightly out of breath, Jim offered him a small smile, his eyebrows easing up. “Spock, hang on.”

“Is this not what you desired?”

“Of course,” Jim replied softly. “It’s just—”

“—that you prefer to seek such company planet-side,” Spock interjected plainly as he stood. He began stepping back, and turned his face off to the right. “Understood.”

Jim’s hands tightened on those arms, stopping Spock’s attempt to turn away, and the expression on his face hardened along with his tone. “It’s _just_ ,” he repeated strongly, “that I wanted to move us to the bed so you would be more comfortable.”

Spock had gone completely rigid before him, his gaze still cast off to the side.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim pressed, giving him a shake. But when that still didn’t allow him meet those dark eyes, his grasp released slightly, palms sliding down the length of Spock’s arms until he took his hands.

With a gentler tone, he said, “Come with me.”

“Captain, I would prefer—”

“Come _with_ me,” Jim repeated, ignoring the abrupt formality. He gave a soft pull on those slender hands and led them over to his bed. He took hold of Spock’s shoulders and gingerly pressed down on them so that he would sit. Jim followed the action at his side.

“Listen to me,” he began immediately, taking Spock’s nearest hand between both of his own. “I wasn’t going down to Argelius to have sex.”

Jim felt the shift in weight on the bed as his laconic partner’s spine stiffened even further at that remark. He knew this conversation would be uncomfortable and that he’d need to handle it delicately, but Jim wasn’t about to let blatant miscommunication damage Spock—or their relationship.

“When I beamed down earlier with Bones and Scotty, you don’t know how much I wished you were there.” He squeezed his hand. “We wound up in a small bar where there were belly dancers. I think you would’ve liked them, because they were beautiful… you know, the way they moved, their clothes.”

Jim paused for a moment. “I was sitting on the floor at a low table, just watching them, enjoying. But I couldn’t help thinking about how much better it would be if you were with me. Time off is best shared with someone you really want to spend it with, after all.”

“It appears,” Spock began slowly, still not making any move to face Jim, “that I have made an error in interpretation.“

The corners of Jim’s lips eased up, along with his eyebrows. “Well, maybe if you let me finish before, that could’ve been avoided. But it’s okay.” One hand unraveled from Spock’s and he touched his shoulder. “Hey.”

When he rubbed it tenderly, Spock’s head finally turned slightly toward his direction but his eyes remained on the floor.

“Sometimes, I need to do what I need to do as captain, Spock,” Jim said. “I don’t like it, but that’s just the simple fact of the job. But when the situation is under my control and I have a choice in the matter, I want you to know that I have no desire to go elsewhere.”

Spock’s gaze finally met Jim’s. His brows knitted down in confusion. “I find I cannot understand your logic. Surely, I am not—”

“Why would I go somewhere else, when everything I want, everything I need, is right here?”

Jim reached out, cupping Spock’s cheek and drew his face to him. He pressed a gentle kiss on those thin lips and then their foreheads touched.

“So,” Jim said softly. “Are you going to help me rest here, Science Officer? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Spock was quiet for several moments, obviously processing Jim’s words. Then, he simply nodded once. “If you still wish to beam down to the planet—”

His question was interrupted by the shaking of Jim’s head. “No, I like your previous suggestion.” Jim leaned over, gently pushing Spock down on the bed and landed on top of him. “I like it a lot more, actually.”

Their lips met again, on better terms this time.


	23. Fake Marriage, Real Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for this prompt: Spock beaming down to a planet that expects him to bring his partner for reasons necessary for negotiations. Jim just stands up grinning in a my time has come sort of way as he goes to get matching customised wedding bands.
> 
> Jim and Spock have a misunderstanding with some Bynars from TNG. ;D

**Fake Marriage, Real Kissing**

An uncomfortable silence loomed in the captain’s quarters as Jim stared at the blank terminal screen. It persisted for what felt like an eternity while he pondered with pursed lips the additional orders that had just been issued to him from Admiral Komack. Finally, his eyes raised to Spock standing on the other side of his desk, and he got to his feet. He turned off the monitor and then his hands lifted to dock at his hips, just beneath the gold tunic.

Jim leaned his head back, peering at Spock. “Why?” His brows pulled inward, openly expressing his curiosity. “Why does Starfleet insist on complicating this process? I understand this is the way of Bynaus, but to impose that on Federation delegates…”

Spock was standing stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back. Once Jim trailed off, he stepped in. “The Bynars are said to live in pairs from the moment they are born. It appears they are never separated. Perhaps being approached by many will have adverse effects on our diplomatic efforts.”

Jim hummed, letting his eyes wander to the floor in thought for a moment. “Yes, I remember the intelligence report, Mister Spock.” He hadn’t uttered that in annoyance; rather, Jim was more pensive than anything. Their gazes met again. “So, Command believes they would be more receptive to only two of us arriving for the negotiations, instead of our usual team of five. Two on two, then.”

With his face dropping once in a nod, Spock agreed. “Affirmative.”

Jim exhaled and his shoulders relaxed as a quiet smile began pulling across his lips. “I suppose it’s understandable, even if it _is_ inconvenient for us. Our power of influence increases as the number of us around that negotiation table does. We’ll play it by their rules, though.” There was a pause. “Did anything else turn up in your research?”

“My investigation confirmed no more than what Starfleet has provided,” Spock began with a slight shake of his head. “The Bynars are a race of genderless humanoids who have advanced themselves through cybernetic technology. A chip is implanted somewhere in the brain at birth, which ties into the main planetary supercomputer and allows the host to rapidly process communication in binary. However, that amount of data cannot be handled by one individual alone.”

“…Which is why they live in pairs for their entire lives. One can’t exist without the other,” Jim filled in the gap. “It’s sensible, considering the binary numbering system contains only zero and one. I suppose it could be daunting for a team of five individuals to approach them with such an important matter.”

Jim turned, clasping his hands and rubbing them together as he paced several steps toward the door and then back. “You’re still the best candidate to be part of the conversations down there, Spock. Your predilection for logic is something they may find comforting.”

He looked up just in time to see two pointed eyebrows lift in response to such immense praise. “Admiral Komack specified no particular requirements about pairing up, so I’ll leave the choice of who to bring along to you.”

“Captain.” Spock inclined his chin. “In that case, I should request that you accompany me. As our representation in numbers will be low, perhaps it can be compensated for by the combination of our ranks.”

“Very well, Mister Spock. That’s sensible.” Jim’s tone remained serious but then it lightened when he smiled. “These talks are nothing new to us. I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“Indeed.”

“Chess?”

“Certainly.”

As they made their way over to the small table and began setting up the match, Jim quelled the feeling of satisfaction that was blooming inside of him; he felt a pang of excitement about going through with this mission alone with Spock—even if it was only for several hours of negotiations that were likely to be tense and irritating.

But still… Jim wore a soft smile as he watched Spock fidgeting with the positioning of the pieces and perfectly lining them up. Any time he could spend with Spock was valuable. He had come to really admire him, and though he was sure his feelings weren’t and would never be returned, Jim would take what he could get.

What could possibly go wrong?

~

_Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 2265.9. Never start a mission asking what could go wrong._

Jim fully intended to begin his recap of this trip in that manner when they returned to the Enterprise.

The pair of small lavender Bynars standing before them cocked their heads in the same direction at the exact same time.

“It is good to see you have—” the individual on the right began. Without missing a beat, the sentence was immediately concluded by the one on the left, “—brought your mate, Commander Spock.”

“As you are Vulcan, we appreciate that you understand—” “—the importance of never leaving each other’s side.”

“As we—” “—cannot.”

“The negotiations will surely pass—” “—smoothly because of this. Thank you.”

How could Starfleet not have known this? How could the intelligence report have not included this one key detail? There was little known of the Bynars other than a basic race profile and the fact that they were sitting on a mass of Dilithium, but surely— _surely_ —that they were expecting a _married_ pair for the talks should have been conveyed at some point during their initial conversations with the Federation.

“Zero Zero,” Spock addressed the individual on the right. “I regret to inform you and Zero One—”

Jim immediately nudged Spock’s arm with his shoulder and stepped forward, quickly interjecting, “—that we couldn’t…” He fell back on his heels, a smile forcing its way across his face, “bring along another married couple. You see, we wanted to keep this an intimate conversation.” Jim’s eyes wandered between the two standing before them.

They turned to each other and a high pitched chattering noise could be heard as they communicated in their own language that was too fast for the universe translator to process. Both nodded at the same time and looked back at Jim and Spock.

“Let us begin—” “—the talks.”

The two Bynars pivoted with perfect timing and began walking synchronously toward a large arched doorway leading out of the transporter room and into a corridor.

“Captain,” Spock whispered tensely through his teeth. His eyes were barely widened and a pale green color had made its way across his cheeks.

Jim’s mouth opened but his eyes offered the apology instead. He barely shook his head and then extended a hand toward the door, indicating they should follow the pair exiting the room.

The Dilithium in this sector was too important to give up over a simple misunderstanding. A small, awkward white lie was worth the prize.

~

“It is our decision that a trade agreement with the—” “—Federation would be most lucrative for both sides.”

“We will sign—” “—the agreement.”

“We’re honored.” Jim offered a small smile and turned his PADD around so that the screen would face the pair across the table. He slid it to their side. “Please, your thumbprints in the boxes next to your names.”

The prints were given and the device was passed back across the table. Jim checked over the document and then looked back at them. “Thank you.”

“There is—” “—no need, Captain.”

“However, we do have—” “—some questions to ask.”

Jim tapped the stylus on the table and placed it next to the PADD. “I’ll do my best to answer then. It’s beneficial for our people to get to know each other better. Please, ask away.”

Zero Zero and Zero One faced each other and began communicating in their language again before looking back to Jim and Spock. “How long have you—” “—been married for?”

Sitting a little straighter, Jim swallowed and then replied, “Just under a year.” …Well, the time they’d served together on the Enterprise seemed good an answer as ever. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spock’s hand tightening slightly on top of the table.

There was more chattering and then, “We studied your kind to better understand. We had concluded that you as a—” “—human would be more outwardly affectionate. Do you hold back because of our presence?”

The situation was becoming tenser with every passing moment.

“Or is it because—” “—your mate is Vulcan?”

“Ah,” Jim began, his brows raising. He wouldn’t dare look at Spock now. “It’s unprofessional to show public displays of affection in our line of work.”

“Understood. It is a pity. We had been particularly interested—” “—in seeing you perform what is called a kiss.”

Jim shifted in his chair. “That is a…” His eyes wandered off somewhere to the side and he slowly continued with a nod. “…a most personal matter.” They came back to their foreign counterparts.

“May we request you demonstrate?” “In honor of our newly signed treaty?”

Jim drew in a deep breath and held it, his gaze falling on the table before it met theirs again. “Zero Zero, Zero One,” he began. “I’m unsure…”

“Captain.” A hand was suddenly on his shoulder. Jim’s attention slowly pulled to the right, where he was met by a sincere look on Spock’s face. He appeared tense, but when he swallowed and offered the smallest of nods while pushing two fingers in his direction, Jim looked back at the Bynars watching them in fascination.

A fake smile pulled tightly at the corner of his mouth and he dryly said, “Of course. In honor of the treaty.”

Jim’s heart pounded so loudly that he could hear it in his ears as he turned back to Spock. With a lift of his chin, he moved quickly and his lips pressed against Spock’s in a gentle brief kiss before breaking away. Spock’s eyes were wide when he pulled back, his hand with two fingers still outstretched in his direction. Jim looked down at them for a moment as they fell slowly to the table, before turning his attention to the two across from them.

“We had thought you would kiss in Vulcan—” “—fashion, but that was demonstration enough.”

Oh. _Ohhh_ …

As the horrifying realization dawned on Jim, Zero Zero and Zero One stood.

“Must you leave now?” “Or will you stay?”

Clearing his throat, Jim got to his feet and picked up the PADD. “Unfortunately, the pleasures are left for ambassadors to experience. We’ll have to be on our way.”

“Very well, Captain Kirk. It has been an interesting—” “—experience to converse with you and your mate. Thank you.”

~

Things had become weird after that for several days until Jim finally approached Spock. Without mentioning any details, he asked if they could agree to just forget what had happened in the line of duty. Spock had accepted. The strain had lessened when they were in each other’s company in front of the crew. Chess had resumed in time.

And though they eventually wound up in each other’s arms, they never brought it up again.

…Until one evening, many years later, as they were sitting before a lit fireplace in San Francisco.

“Well how about that?” Jim asked, lowering his PADD and removing his glasses. He looked up to find Spock’s attention upon him. Though his hair had begun to gray and his face had aged, the way those dark eyes lovingly regarding him had never changed. “Did you see the news? Bynaus is looking to join the Federation now. After all of these years…”

Jim paused, a smile creeping across his face. “Want to volunteer to head those talks?”

One corner of Spock’s mouth pulled up and he simply extended two fingers in reply. Jim’s eyes fell to the outstretched hand and he paused for a moment before leaning over and pressing his lips to Spock’s. Their digits touched at the same time.

“…Perhaps,” Spock mumbled against Jim’s mouth, his eyes remaining closed momentarily as their lips barely separated. “It might be prudent to leave that to another pair who strongly wishes but has yet to kiss.”


	24. Why Is He Climbing a Mountain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was done for a ten minute writing challenge thingy with my friends. We used a first line generator and what I got was so fitting. hehe So here’s a ten minute word dump and two minutes worth of editing, based on the famous song about [Jim climbing a mountain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HU2ftCitvyQ). XD

**Why Is He Climbing a Mountain?**

“ **The mountain is my one constant in life** ,” Jim declared, staring up at El Capitan with a look of awe.

“Jim, what in the hell are you talking about?” McCoy asked. He was kneeling near the fire, focusing on pouring boiling water from the percolator without splashing it on himself.

“To challenge the rock. To…” Jim swigged a sip from the mug containing his lukewarm coffee. “ _Hug_ the mountain, _envelop_ that mountain.”

He could hear a groan from behind him . “How is it that you start talkin’ all this crazy shit when we get away from the Enterprise? Most people get space happy, but you. Sometimes, you worry me. You oughta—” There was a pause and then McCoy’s tone took on utter dread. “Oh, _dear God_ , no.”

Jim looked back to see McCoy standing there, mug in his hand and staring at him with a look of horror on his face. He’d clearly put two and two together about his intentions.

“Now wait just a damn minute!” McCoy exclaimed, stamping over the leaves to where Jim was. A hand was raised and an accusing finger was pointed at Jim. “You are _not_ climbing that mountain!”

Jim simply smiled and turned his face to the vertical wall of rock that loomed over them. “Why not? It’s there.”

“Jim, are you crazy? What kind of shore leave is this?!”

“Don’t worry about it!” Jim replied, downing the contents of his cup. He set it aside and then heaved a backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll be fine!” After he marched a few steps forward, he turned around. “Oh, Bones! Let Spock know I’ll see him later when he comes back. Tell him not to worry.”

“As if that green-blooded computer would ever!” McCoy snapped. “And another thing! You tell him that yourself. You, with your telepathic Vulcan magic and all that insanity. Leave me out of it!”

Jim simply shrugged, giving him an apologetic look and then turned back around. He waved over his shoulder. “See ya later, Bones.”

“Well, don’t expect me to sit here worrying about you!” McCoy yelled after him and received only a hand waving in the air as a reply; Jim hadn’t even turned around. “God damn foolish… If he thinks I’m gonna be sittin’ here watchin’ him, he’s got another thing coming.”

McCoy dropped himself into his folding chair, never taking his eyes off that cliff.


	25. I Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for this prompt: Imagine Kirk has to go away for some Captain away mission for about 2 weeks, leaving Spock in charge. And when Jim comes back, they both have to act super cool round the crew about how happy they are to be back on the ship together. Then later on when their shift is over they show each other just how much they missed the other. Spock is all hands.

**I Missed You**

The entrance to Jim’s quarters wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it certainly felt like it had taken long enough to get there. The door slid open. Then it slid closed. And once it did and the privacy lock was engaged, there was no more holding back.

Jim’s hands lashed out and grabbed the front of Spock’s tunic, driving his digits into the fabric and clenching it tightly. He hauled his arms back with an unyielding force, coercing Spock’s body across the little space separating them so that he was flush against him. In the low light of the captain’s quarters, their lips barely touched and their breaths intermingled as the two stared at each other with the look of men who had starved for weeks.

The gaze they held was rife with the telling of every love story and every moment of ardor that had ever been shared between two individuals—all captured in this one perfect, volatile moment. Their eyes spoke before their mouths did, spilling forth the pent up desire and affection which had welled in the absence of the other. And now it overflowed.

It hung for too long, that stare; it lingered as if they had attempted to burn this point in time into their memories–to never forget how fortunate it was that this universe had somehow thrown them together. Two hearts pounded to a desperate rhythm, every passing second more and more unbearable until, at last, the delicate ledge of patience they had perched themselves upon collapsed.

“ _I missed you_.”

Those three words were the only ones Jim rasped out in a whisper before their mouths collided and everything erupted into flame. His tightening fists dug deeper into the blue shirt it held captive as their lips opened to each other. Instinct took over when the rush crashed into him like a tidal wave; Jim’s tongue thrust forward to meet Spock’s, mind awash with starvation and the feeling of nimble Vulcan digits slipping through his blond hair. As the kiss deepened, his head was gently cradled between those two loving palms.

Jim groaned, his face moving in slight motions while he drove himself further and further into it, pushing forth all of the affection and lust he was feeling before it drowned him. He felt Spock’s hands slipping away from his hair and wandering down. One landed on his shoulder, the other barely brushing over his psi points. Finally, both fell further in unison and took a strong hold to his hips.

Still deep into the kiss, Jim felt himself being pushed backwards and they both clumsily stumbled for several steps. When his shoulders pressed into a wall, Jim finally released the tunic he’d fisted and brought his hands up to cup Spock’s narrow face. Out of breath, he tossed his head back, breaking the contact between their lips and heaving desperately needed air into his lungs.

Jim leaned forward again as he panted with closed eyes, his brow touching Spock’s lips while his digits spread out over the angular jaw and settled just beneath each pointed ear. He felt the hands on his hips release to wander up his sides and back down, over and over—almost as if they were attempting to confirm that he was actually real.

But Jim knew better. The contact between Spock’s hands and his body was sending pulses to that keen telepathic mind, and Spock was drinking in every wave of lust that flowed through his fingertips.

Humans had their own receptors, too. The natural scent of Spock overtook Jim’s senses as he recovered his breathing, the spicy aura of cinnamon flooding through him and messing with his mind. Being pinned against the wall with Spock’s body heavy against his own was enough to cause his trousers to become uncomfortably tight, but the sudden assault of sensory stimuli he had been denied for too long pushed him over the edge.

Truly, it had felt like the longest two weeks—ever. After spending nearly all of his time with Spock, abruptly being bereft of his company had made Jim realize how much he needed him. It wasn’t a sudden realization; of course, he’d known that before he’d stepped on the transporter pad to leave. But being away for so long had proven just how tightly intertwined their souls were…how much Jim had come to absolutely adore this creature who was now pressing kisses to his temple and cheekbone.

_I adore you._

_I **adore** you._

Jim nearly shouted those thoughts to match how loudly they resounded in his mind. Instead, however, he chose to physically express them. His hands released Spock’s face and he threw his arms around his neck. One leg was tossed up next to a thin hip. Their lips met again and Spock followed Jim’s lead, clasping his outer thigh and then pulling his other leg up.

Jim’s legs wrapped around Spock’s thin waist, his shoulder blades pressed tightly against the wall he was held to. He prolonged the kiss for several more moments before pulling away, only to issue one breathless demand. “Bed.”

Breathing hard, Spock nodded once and huffed out, “Yes.”

His arms slipped behind Jim and crossed, holding him in a strong embrace as he stepped back and carried him across the room, heading to the sleeping alcove. For the entire way over, Jim squeezed him, taking comfort only in knowing that the feeling of not being close enough now would disappear once Spock took him in his body.

And then, they would both drown together, in a place that had no end or beginning–only love.


	26. Safe and Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Telepathic injury hurt/comfort. During their second five year mission, Spock is injured, sedated, and wakes up in an unexpected location.

**Safe and Warm**

Spock felt the hand that had clenched to his bicep release and slip away. He could nearly hear the words Jim undoubtedly wanted to speak—the ones that would stop him from doing this. However, they both knew that, right now, their roles of captain and first officer needed to take precedence over that of doting husband and dutiful mate.

Though the second five year mission was unlike the first in many ways, the most important factors hadn’t changed at all. Of course, the presence of the bond and the fact that it was now public knowledge that Jim and Spock shared it were the biggest personal changes for both of them. However, despite these major social differences, very little had been altered in the area of command.

After all, they’d loved each other the first time around, but still needed to face difficult decisions and the prospect of the other being injured—or even killed in action. As the Enterprise’s most senior officers, though, Jim and Spock were morally and lawfully obligated to consider what was best for four-hundred and thirty, not only two.

It was surprisingly manageable, mostly because the threatening situations they encountered were almost always nullified by their teamwork. This time, however, Spock would go where Jim couldn’t follow. He cleared his mind of this as he approached the multi-limbed humanoid standing before him with pearly opaque skin that shimmered in the light.

There was always a danger in melding with another—always an element of the unknown to consider, especially when it was done upon first exposure to an unfamiliar life form. In some cases, the potential threat seemed justifiable; it had been that way with the Horta, with Nomad, with V’GER—and now, again, with the Maklana’ar.

“My mind to your mind.”

The ancient words were spoken with the pads of Spock’s fingertips pressed to foreign psi points. As soon as the meld was established, a soft gasp fell from his lips. Spock’s eyes squeezed together, and yet, he remained, keeping his hand steadily in place.

‘ _Let this sad song of my kind fill your ears if you insist, Vulcan. Hear the torment of its melody. Can your Federation fix this? Can your Federation do justice to a suffering lot?_ ’

A symphony of cries blasted through the meld.

Somewhere in the distance, Spock could hear Jim yelling his name before the dam walls of his control broke and an intense pain crashed into his mind. A mewl may have left his lips at that moment, but Spock couldn’t be rightly sure. The contact broke abruptly then, and his legs immediately gave out. Before his knees crashed to the ground, something caught him—two arms that were very familiar.

Spock was lowered to the ground gently as he writhed and convulsed… shook his head from side-to-side, doing anything to force those deafening echoes of affliction out of his mind.

There was pressure against his neck suddenly and it all went black.

~

A familiar, pleasing scent roused Spock’s consciousness and gently drew him away from the heavy veil of sleep. His lips parted as he took a deep breath, brows pulling inward when he became faintly aware that he was face down with his forehead against something… soft. Comfortable. Home. _Jim_. …The meld!

Spock’s eyes snapped open when a wave of panic jolted through him and he pushed back hard with his arms, launching his torso up.

“No, no, no, no, shhh!”

Jim’s hands were on his shoulders, holding him in place and preventing him from rising any further than he already had. Disoriented and with his heart hammering against his side, Spock quickly looked around him—panting now with confusion clearly overtaking his expression as he sat back on Jim’s hips. As he felt his shoulders being gently rubbed, Spock’s eyes focused on Jim, noting that he was sitting back against a fluffy wall of pillows and had obviously just been holding him as he slept.

Spock searched for the answers to the million questions that had begun assaulting his mind as the fog cleared. How had he gotten from the planet to their bed? When did he fall asleep? What of the Maklana’ar?

“Shhh,” Jim repeated, lifting a hand and brushing it through Spock’s hair, just above his ear. “It’s okay. Do you feel any pain?”

“What—” Spock began, surprised by the roughness in voice. He swallowed and tried to regulate his breathing. “What has transpired?”

“The meld injured you,” Jim calmly explained, squinting up to gauge Spock’s condition. He kept his hand cupped over the side of his head and repeated, “Do you feel any pain?”

For several moments, Spock stared at him as his breath caught and then he shook his head, whispering, “No.”

“Okay, good.” Both of Jim’s hands fell to Spock’s and he took them tightly. “We need to call McCoy to make sure, but first, let me explain what happened. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Spock paused to think a moment before he began. “I recall your touch on my arm, and moving toward the Maklana’ar. I recall initiating the mind meld and then…” He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to describe the rest.

“Then, something very painful?” Jim filled in for him.

Spock nodded once and swallowed again. “Yes. Very.”

“Then nothing?”

Another nod confirmed that truth. Spock found himself once again exceedingly grateful to have a bondmate who spared him from facing the mortification of vocalizing anything that was highly emotional. Jim somehow always knew when to speak for Spock, and having that support was extremely comforting.

“I’m not surprised,” Jim replied with a small huff, giving a squeeze to Spock’s hands. “Bones knocked you out with a strong sedative right after I caught you. Just after you started the meld, you collapsed.”

“How long was I unconscious for?”

“A little over four hours now.”

Spock’s shoulders fell and he looked down at their entwined fingers, clearly in a pensive state. It was then he noticed that he was no longer in his red uniform, but his black sleeping robe. Jim had also dressed down in a t-shirt and boxers.

Before he could inquire, Jim answered. “Of course, you were in sickbay as soon as we beamed up. Bones ran tests and physically cleared you, but I insisted on bringing you here after that.” His thumbs rubbed small circles into Spock’s knuckles. “I knew you’d be confused when you woke up and wanted to make sure you had privacy while everything straightened itself out.”

Words were lost somewhere in Spock. What had he done to deserve being treated in this manner? Jim was so kind to him, so loving and sensitive… so willing to do anything and everything he could, if only for Spock’s comfort.

His eyes softened slightly. After every meld that had hurt him in some way, Jim had always been there to help him back on his feet and steady him. And now, this time, he’d gone an even extra distance with bringing Spock back to their quarters, undressing him, covering him in warm blankets, and holding him as the sedative wore off to ensure his waking and reorientation were as peaceful as possible.

“Figured,” Jim continued, his lips turning upwards into a tiny smile, “we’ve been through this enough times to know that by now.” His expression became serious. “But you _are_ feeling all right?”

“Yes,” Spock replied softly.

Jim studied him for a moment, as if to reaffirm that answer. Then, he tugged on their hands and pressed a gentle kiss to both of Spock’s before pulling him forward. They embraced, and Spock’s forehead pressed to the side of Jim’s neck again. He closed his eyes when he felt the warm cover drawn up to his shoulders once more.

“We’ll head down to sickbay soon then,” Jim said, the vibration of his voice soothing Spock in his current position. “I just need a few minutes like this.”

Spock felt those arms tighten around him, relief radiating from Jim’s side of their bond. He let himself be held tightly and revered, his own hands clutching tightly to Jim’s shirt.

“Jim?”

“Mmm?”

“The Maklana’ar, the mission…”

“All under control, Spock. The magistrate you melded with was so apologetic over what happened. I think Ambassador Grant was almost grateful for it, to be honest… It’s a bargaining chip.” Jim pushed his head back into the pillows so that he could nudge his chin against the silky black hair. With a pout, he added, “Sorry.”

Spock just shook his head. “There is no need. But should you not be on the bridge now?”

“While we’re en route to our next mission? While you’re injured and I’m worried about you?” Spock felt his back being stroked as Jim quietly continued, “No. A captain has the luxury of choosing his priorities in times of peace, Mister Spock. And in those times, I’ll always choose you.”

Spock’s eyes squeezed shut and he pushed his forehead even further unto Jim’s neck, his digits tightening on the material of his shirt. He loved Jim with every fiber of his being—loved him for adoring him and supporting him and giving him a place to belong in his arms, even when Spock believed he did nothing to deserve any of that.

“You _absolutely_ deserve it,” Jim said quietly.

Spock’s eyes opened. He always knew.

He remained wrapped up in Jim’s warmth until they were commed by an impatient grumbling doctor, wondering “where in the hell” they were, since the sedative should’ve worn off an hour ago.


	27. Not In Front of the Klingons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, imagine what _would’ve_ happened if the Klingons weren’t there. ;D Just some reunion fluff that starts with this scene and extends a little further.

**Not In Front of the Klingons**

The smile that had spread across Korrd’s face was genuine—friendly, even, and certainly a foreign gesture for a great Klingon general with quite the reputation. Jim barely shook his head, his lower eyelids rising just a touch in confusion as he tried to piece this all together. First, they rescued him. Then, they released him and offered an apology for their aggression—Klingons _apologized_ , and to _him_! Jim never thought he’d live to see the time.

“And now, may I present,” Korrd continued, clearly not out of surprises yet. He paused to turn his face and lift a hand, drawing attention to the forward battle terminal. “…our new gunner.”

With perplexity still written over his features, Jim’s gaze lingered on Korrd for a moment before hesitantly pulling away and landing on the gunner station, which had begun to slowly turn. At the first sight of shiny black hair, the heightened suspicion that had rendered Jim rigid and tense metamorphosed into disbelief and then astonishment. His heart began pounding as time itself seemed to slow—and suddenly, every person and device of Klingon manufacture around him simply vanished from his thoughts.

Jim’s mouth fell open slightly, eyes widening in transfixed awe, as Spock finally completed the half circle to face him head-on. When their gazes met and locked, Jim found himself whispering his name, without even realizing he was speaking it. “ _Spock_!”

Spock’s brows barely lifted and he gracefully raised himself to his feet, standing very tall with his shoulders pushed back. Inclining his chin, he spoke with a tone of satisfaction. “Welcome aboard, Captain.”

The look of stunned reverence remained on Jim’s face for but a moment before he began slowly approaching Spock, the corners of his lips twitching upward. As his footsteps carried him closer, his head bowed in attempt to gather himself and prevent an outward display of the emotion overcoming him.

Jim was under assault by an immeasurable mashup of shock, relief, and gratitude coursing through his mind. It all hit in a tangled mass at once: the lingering desperation he had felt from remaining alone on the tiny world they now orbited… the adrenaline from facing certain death by the wrath of that surface creature and the weaponry on this very ship… from the apprehension of being taken prisoner, his distrust of the Klingons that surrounded him, the concern for the safety of his crew and the Enterprise…

But despite all of this, the emotion that washed over him strongest of all now was the intense adoration he held for Spock—Spock, who had come to his rescue yet again… who had somehow managed to take control of a Klingon gunner station to ensure his safety.

And suddenly, Jim and Spock were standing face-to-face—so close that the red fabric of their uniforms nearly touched. The universe magnified itself infinitely until the only ones it encompassed were them, and the only sounds that mattered were the beating of their hearts.

“I…” Jim began, his voice barely above a whisper and heavily laden with affection. The inner ends of his brows lifted and his eyes fell to Spock’s chest for a moment before they returned to his face. “…thought I was going to die.”

Spock’s lips pulled taught and he shook his head quickly. “Not possible,” he replied calmly and then lifted his chin once more without ever breaking away from their gaze. His brows raised and a discreet wave of gentleness took over his expression. “You were never alone.”

Jim’s shoulders dipped as the breath was stolen from his lungs, the pure love he felt for Spock swelling even greater and finally inundating him to the point where he could no longer keep it to himself. His face softened as his eyes closed for a brief second and the corners of his mouth barely rose further. Dropping his chin, Jim reached for Spock’s shoulders and grasped them tightly before lifting his face and leaning in.

“Please, Captain.”

The words stopped Jim right in his tracks before his lips came anywhere within close proximity of Spock’s, and his lashes fluttered open.

“Not in front of the Klingons,” Spock urged, his gravelly voice soft and sharp brows raising further. However, it came with a wave of affection that pulsed its way directly into Jim’s mind.

Jim’s lips parted and he stiffened. _Right, right. The Klingons…_

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, and when he saw several pairs of eyes focused on them, his hands slipped from Spock’s shoulders. Taking a deep breath, he quelled the desire which compelled him to throw his arms around that lean Vulcan frame, and instead, let his face fall in one understanding nod.

‘ _When we return to the Enterprise, Jim._ ’

The words echoed across their bond, along with another surge of relief and affection. So close to losing this all again… Jim closed his eyes as he felt them fill up, and just shook his head while stifling a quiet laugh. He’d be damned if he shed any tears for an audience, and _certainly_ not in front of the Klingons.

~

The first thing Jim saw after materializing on the Enterprise transporter platform was Lieutenant Tracey behind the control panel.

“Welcome back, Captain!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jim replied descending the two steps and then walking across the small room. His demeanor hadn’t broken in the slightest, even after everything he’d just been through. “Permission granted to leave your post and find Doctor McCoy.”

“Doctor McCoy, Sir?” Tracey repeated, clearly taken off guard by the bizarre order.

“Relay this message to him,” Jim continued, his hands falling on the top of the console. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “ _All is well._ ”

A message relay? Tracey’s brows drew together in consternation before he flicked his eyes up to Spock approaching the station beside Jim. Not one to question orders, he swallowed and quickly nodded, stammering, “Y—Yes, Sir,” before retreating into the corridor as fast as his legs could take him.

As soon as the door slid closed and left Jim and Spock standing alone, they immediately turned to each other and collided. Jim’s arms shot out around Spock and squeezed him in a tight embrace, his cheek falling against a strong shoulder. He felt himself drawn just as tightly by an arm across his back. A hand clasped to his head, gently pressing it unto the red uniform that carried a familiar and comforting scent of spice.

“You came back for me,” Jim whispered against the soft material.

His eyes opened again when he began to lift his face, but felt the hand upon his head keeping him steadily where he was. His lashes fell and he stilled himself, ready for a harangue about his brashness; this time, he wouldn’t argue it.

“You must know that I always will,” Spock quietly replied, his lips against a rounded ear. He leaned forward, gathering Jim even closer for a moment before finally withdrawing far enough for them to see each other. When their eyes met, it was clear that there was much that Spock wasn’t saying.

‘ _I’m sorry._ ’ Jim defaulted to conveying those words over their bond, but then he spoke out loud as his hands lifted to cup Spock’s face. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you down there.”

Spock swallowed and shook his head. Absolutely, entirely _irrational_. Jim spoke as if his safety were less important than Spock’s own… as if Spock wouldn’t be affected by his being injured or—it was unthinkable—killed.

There was an incredible need to address this business of Jim putting himself unnecessarily at risk _yet again_. How many times would he do this? Why was it so hard for him to understand how deeply this affected the ones who loved him? But right now, these words escaped Spock. Just having Jim here and being able to touch him and look into those expressive human eyes… this was, in some way, enough for the moment. It had to be. The transporter room was no place to begin addressing any subject of profound personal nature.

Jim knew his thoughts, however. He drew Spock’s face down gently and they kissed for a moment that was far too fleeting. When their lips parted, Jim pressed his forehead into one lean cheek and opened his mouth. Just as he was about to start talking, the door swished open.

“ _All is well_ , my ass!” McCoy shouted, charging inside. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Jim and Spock quickly unraveling from each other and attempting to act like they hadn’t just been caught.

McCoy’s hand shot in the air and he pointed at them. “First of all, get a room!”

“Hi, Bones,” Jim offered, lifting a hand and rubbing at the side of his head uncomfortably. He’d already decided that he wasn’t about to fight Hurricane McCoy when it crashed down on him, and oh boy, had it ever. The man was seething.

“Don’t you ‘ _hi, Bones_ ’ me, Jim!” McCoy snapped, stalking right up to him. He grabbed Jim’s arm and began dragging him toward the door. “Runnin’ off to play hero again, why I oughta smack you. Now get yourself to sickbay before I _really_ get mad!”

Jim’s eyes found Spock’s face, which had taken on a shade of green by this time. As McCoy pulled him into the hallway, he grumbled, “Yes, yes, you worried him enough to beam aboard a Klingon ship. I guess he can come too.”

Spock watched them disappear, leaving him standing alone in the transporter room with cheeks that were hotter than the desert sands of his home planet. Suddenly, he heard McCoy’s yell echoing in the hall, “That wasn’t an option, Spock!”

Spock’s eyes widened, his spine stiffened, and he quickly strode out to regroup with both men. He quietly remained several paces back from McCoy stiffly pulling on Jim’s bicep while littering a constant stream of very colorful metaphors, and decided that hell hath no fury like an old country doctor scorned. But if it would stop Jim from unnecessarily risking his life in the future… his bondmate enduring a little ‘tough love’ from their friend might not be so bad after all.


	28. You Have What She Doesn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/Summary: Enterprise is transporting a diplomatic delegation, one female delegate is very interested in Kirk. Spock is VERY all Vulcan-like unhappy about the fact. So Jim makes Spock sure that he's only interested in him.

**You Have What She Doesn't**

Amid the laughter and conversation, the clinking of glasses and soft classical song, she came to him—floating across the crowded room with grace and beauty. The pearly bustier adorned with embellishments of shimmery blue beading squeezed her body, accenting her breasts and waist, but no further than that; for just beneath this garment that clung to her were layers of flowing material which fell away from her body in soft waves of opal and ivory.

Under the soft lights, her eyelashes fell and parted again in slow motion—delicate, like the wings of Terran monarch butterflies, he found himself concluding. She was, however, anything but of earthen manufacture, with a dark gray skin tone and scaly ridges that were fascinatingly flattering about those jade eyes.

She was beautiful.

And that was exactly how she carried herself and came to stand at Jim’s side, holding a flute glass filled with champagne amongst slender fingers.

Beautifully. Effortlessly. Lovely. Offering all that she had.

A large smile spread across her face, this gesture and the curls tumbling about her cheeks softening her features even further. “Captain Kirk, you are a most gracious host.” Her eyes flicked to Spock, acknowledging him with a cordial, “Commander Spock,” before returning to her real interest: the man standing at his side.

“I’m pleased you’re enjoying yourself,” Jim replied, returning the kind expression with a nod and smile of his own. “I hope you’re finding the trip comfortable. It’s a pleasure to have been chosen for providing passage to you and the other diplomats, Ambassador Damal.”

“Illiana,” she insisted, leaning her face forward slightly. Her eyes moved in tiny back and forth motions as she stared into Jim’s own. Her interest was blatantly on display, obvious to everyone.

Even Spock. _Especially_ Spock.

However, as it wasn’t his affair, he remained silent and simply listened.

A small breath pushed its way out of Jim’s nose and his mouth twitched upward a little further. Seeming unaffected by her movements that drew her closer to him, he corrected himself. “Illiana.”

Illiana casually leaned back, gravitating into her own space once more as Jim lifted his cognac and sipped. Her eyes, however, remained deep wells of enchantment, and the smile across her full lips showed no sign of fading. “Captain, I wanted to thank you for showing us around earlier. I can see now with my own eyes why the Enterprise is called the jewel of Starfleet.”

“That’s quite a compliment! Thank you,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I’ll be sure to let the upper brass know you said that. It’s just what they love to hear.”

“And you don’t?” The pleasantries just continued.

“Oh, it isn’t that,” Jim said airily with a slight shake of the head, his eyes squinting a touch to convey he hadn’t spoken clearly, and then his expression eased back into a classic display of James Kirk congeniality.

He looked up, sweeping over the ceiling as if he were addressing the Enterprise directly. “I love my ship very much, but let’s just say between sitting in the captain’s chair and sitting behind a desk…” His attention returned to Illiana, his glass lifting as he readied to drink again. “…there’s a big difference in the kind of appreciation one can have. It’s a bit like—well, admiring someone beautiful from a distance and then seeing them up close to find they’re better than you even thought. More personal, if you will.”

Jim drank.

Illiana’s cheeks colored slightly and her gaze wandered down to her champagne. She paused before she spoke again. “Captain…” Her brows lifted, watching the tiny bubbles rising to the top of her glass. “I’ve been told by Ambassador ch’Vrada that the main observation deck is quite a romantic sight. I was wondering…” And then, her eyes were back on Jim, intense emotion present between those long black lashes. “Would you be so kind to arrange a personal tour for me?”

The pleasant expression on Jim’s face hadn’t faded; in fact, it intensified. His eyes fell closed as his chin dropped in a nod. “I would be honored. This way.”

Jim looked at Spock then. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Mister Spock.” Illiana offered a polite smile and then took Jim’s arm without it being offered to her as he began walking across the space, careful to not bump into any of their other guests.

Spock’s stoic gaze followed them as Jim neared the door; however, he didn’t walk through it. Instead, he led Illiana to the nearby bar in which a certain doctor had been hovering close to throughout this entire event.

“Illiana, I believe you know Doctor McCoy,” Jim said.

“Why, yes, we met earlier,” she replied, raising her glass a little higher.

“Madam,” McCoy greeted her with a nod.

“Illiana was just telling me how much she wanted to see the observation deck. I have matters to attend to, so would you be so kind to take her there and show her around?”

“With pleasure, Captain,” McCoy stated, placing his drink down on a tray and then held his arm out to a very befuddled Illiana. She looked up at Jim, her brows pulling together in consternation. The kindness on his face remained and she studied it for a moment more, before confusedly unraveling her arm from Jim’s and then taking McCoy’s.

“If you’ll follow me, Ambassador,” McCoy said as he began walking her away. After several steps, she looked over her shoulder to see Jim making his way back toward Spock.

Spock’s eyes met hers and though he was no expert at reading emotion, he could understand the total perplexity found in her gaze.

And then she was gone.

~

The door to his quarters slid open without request for entry, catching him off guard. Jim wasn’t due to arrive for another five minutes and thirty-two seconds, and yet there he was. Spock stiffened.

“I was able to end that conversation with the Andorian ambassador faster than expected,” Jim began, but when his eyes fell on the way in which Spock was sitting so rigidly at his desk, they narrowed slightly in concern. “Something wrong?”

“It is agreeable that you could do so,” Spock replied clinically. He carefully kept his attention away from Jim to avoid revealing that he had been considering something deep, and then stood, reaching for the three-dimensional chess set. Had he not been lost in his thoughts, he would have already arranged it.

A hand caught his wrist gently, and Spock was reminded that Jim was very quick when he wanted to be.

“Spock,” he said quietly.

 _As usual._ Vulcans didn’t sigh, so Spock’s lashes fell instead. Jim somehow always knew, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim stressed again, finally succeeding in pulling those brown eyes back to him. “What’s going on?”

Diverting his gaze to the fingers latched to his wrist, Spock said nothing… and then watched as they slipped away. He swallowed, pushed his shoulders back, and lifted his chin.

“I do not wish to become a burden on you.” It was a plain confession.

“A wha—”

“A burden. Nor do I wish to hold you back.”

The confusion present on Jim’s face had been overtaken by concern at this point. He just shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Spock beat him to it.

“You surely noticed that Ambassador Damal took extreme interest in you. If you wish to spend the evening with her, I shall not object.”

Silence hung like humidity after a rainstorm, and Spock could bear to no longer see the questions that flashed across Jim’s eyes. Trapped between his desk, the room divider, and Jim himself, he had nowhere to escape; his gaze retreated—landed on some inconspicuous place across the room.

“Why?”

Even that question wouldn’t pull his attention back.

“Why,” Jim repeated slowly, “would I want to spend any time with her or anyone else, when I can spend it with you?”

“Jim, you and I are both aware that in terms of Terran relationships, I am inadequate and unable to give as freely as another may.”

Hands were clasping Spock’s arms then and he felt himself shaken back and forth once when Jim demanded, “Since when?!”

Finally, their eyes met. “The ambassador is physically appealing. Furthermore, she is clearly capable of expressing emotion and is not unfit for public displays of physical contact. I would imagine this is the kind of behavior you would expect and appreciate from me, however I—”

“— _imagined_ wrong, Spock,” Jim strongly finished for him, his grasp tightening on his arms. “Tell me. How long have we been together?”

“It has been three months, nineteen days, twenty hours, and—”

“Right. Three months,” Jim repeated, his tone now laced with sincerity. “Nineteen days, twenty hours, and however many minutes and seconds you’ll quote next… all of which have been the best I’ve ever had in my life.” Suddenly, his eyes fell to the blue dress tunic and softened, a realization coming to him and his tone going quiet. “Unless it hasn’t been for you.” His digits slowly released from the fabric they pressed into, and his hands began to fall. “If that’s the case, then that’s a different matter.”

“ _No._ ”

Spock caught Jim’s retreating hands as he whispered the word softly—and yet strongly still. A protest. “It is not the case.”

Jim stared at their entwined fingers for a moment and the way Spock’s clamped to his tightly before finding those dark brown eyes again. He studied them, reading what they told him and beginning to piece this all together. Finally, he stepped back and while still holding those hands in his own, led Spock to the sleeping alcove.

“ _Ambassador Damal_ , for your information,” Jim started as he walked backwards toward the bed, “doesn’t interest me in the slightest. Do you have any idea why?”

Encouraged to sit on the edge of the mattress, Spock did. “I do not.”

Their hands unwound from each other. “Because, she doesn’t have these.” Standing before him, Jim touched the pointed tips of his ears and stroked them. “Or these.” He ran his digits lightly across one arched eyebrow. “Or any of this.” Spock felt the hand combing back through his hair.

“She doesn’t have these either,” Jim said quietly, leaning down to press his lips to Spock’s for a moment that left too quickly.

“But most importantly of all, Spock, she doesn’t have what’s in here.”

His fingertips raised to the first of Spock’s psi points. Starting from the temple and trailing lightly over each, his hand fell, traveling all the way down to where the Vulcan heart pounded in his side. “And especially, _especially_ , not here.”

Their lips met again, and Spock found himself falling back against the covers with Jim’s hand cradling the back of his head. When the kiss slowly broke, their foreheads touched.

“You’re all I want, Spock.”

With his eyes closing, Spock’s slender hands lifted and took hold of the fabric of Jim’s dress uniform—clenched to it as he wondered why. Why had Jim chosen him? He surely had nothing more to offer than anyone else, and was no more worthy of Jim’s love than another.

But as his lashes parted and his gaze intermingled with Jim’s again, his breath hitched. Despite being deserving or not deserving, those hazel eyes were on him in a manner in which they regarded no other.

_You’re all I want._

And for now, as Jim’s lips were against his again… as he felt himself straddled and stroked and the buttons of his uniform coming undone… For now, perhaps, that was really all Spock needed to know.


	29. The Spaces We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/Summary: Certain concept art of TOS era from 1977 are blowing my brain and my dash. So: Space Husbands return to Enterprise after first shore leave as a couple, and see their quarters refitted to be bigger place for the two:) New bed makes them happy.
> 
> Note: I love this prompt so much!! I changed one minor thing–that they’re arriving on the Enterprise to start their second five-year mission together instead of returning from shore leave.

**The Spaces We Share**

Jim grasped the broad strap of the large travel bag hanging heavy from one shoulder; despite the existence of the padding sewn into his uniform, he knew in the back of his mind that there would be a red mark on his skin when he finally put it down. However, that was the furthest thing from his thoughts, so he absent-mindedly shifted its weight to a more comfortable position once again while they made their way down the final stretch of elegant corridor.

The space was positively bathed in warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the pristine windows, all of which ran the near entire length from floor to ceiling. The natural light softened the harsh edges and contrasts of modern Terran design—hardened steel and transparent aluminum appearing hazy and practically glowing. It seemed almost unreal.

In fact, all of this suddenly felt like something from a fantasy—the view of the glistening bay with its waves gently rolling toward the shore, the expanse of blue sky entirely bereft of clouds, the final moments of feeling the warmth of Earth’s sun kissing his face… Spock at his side as they approached the doors of the lift…

It was both a fitting farewell and an exciting new beginning, and that, alone, had Jim’s heart beating a little faster.

This situation was something Jim had dreamed of an infinite number of times since the conclusion of his first command tenure, but this day was no figment of wishful thinking or imagination. It was as real as the place in his mind which stretched out into a completely different dimension and forever linked him to Spock. He sent a pulse of affection over it, just for good measure.

The lift chimed softly as the silver doors split, and Spock walked inside.

“Jim?”

Indulging in one final view of the bay and sky, of the bustling view of San Francisco from this vantage point, a smile pulled at Jim’s lips. _Farewell_. He bent his knees as he shifted the bag again, and then stepped in beside Spock.

“Perhaps you will allow me to carry our belongings now,” Spock offered, his hand reaching forth to take the luggage but Jim moved away.

“The answer is still no, Mister Spock,” he replied lightly, his eyes soft and sparkling as he flicked them up to his companion’s. “Transporter room.”

The lift doors closed and they were on their way.

“May I point out that attempting to impress me is unnecessary, as you have already succeeded in doing so long ago?”

“Impress you?” Jim huffed out with a small laugh. “Maybe I just like spoiling you by carrying your bags. Ever think of that?”

One pointed brow lifted and Spock’s chin raised. He opened his mouth, but then swallowed and quickly pulled his gaze from Jim’s. The faintest dusting of green began coloring his cheeks and Jim took special pride in his victory.

Finally, their upward ascent slowed and another chime rang out. The doors split once more to reveal a busy circular room with multiple transporter pads about the perimeter and a large curved desk in the middle.

“Captain Kirk, Captain Spock!” an older woman wearing a gray uniform acknowledged them, immediately standing from where she had been sitting at a terminal behind the desk.

“At ease, Lieutenant Commander,” Jim replied with a friendly smile. “We’re just here for a lift.”

“Certainly, Sir! To the Enterprise, I assume?” She began tapping one of the touchscreens, signaling two of the circular pads to light up.

“One and the same,” Jim spoke casually as he strolled over and stepped onto one platform, followed by Spock at his side.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, programming the coordinates in and sending the initiation command. While waiting for a reply from the Enterprise’s transporter console, she asked, “Getting a head start? My schedule shows that the majority of the crew will be beaming up over the next three days.”

“That’s right. I found it’s better to settle my own personal chaos before needing to deal with that of others’ at the start of a mission,” Jim said, amusement in his tone. It was always hectic, whose belongings were whose, the setting up of personal living spaces, the orientation of the crew…

The woman stifled a small laugh and then the response came through on her console. “Well, Captain Kirk, Captain Spock, best wishes for a safe voyage. Enterprise, two to beam up.”

Jim briefly savored the last moment on Earth that he would have for a long while, and then commanded, “Energize.”

An iridescent sheen overtook them, and with a trail of sparkles in their wake, Jim and Spock disappeared.

~

The Enterprise corridors were eerily silent—a striking albeit very much expected atmosphere with only a skeleton crew manning the ship. In fact, Jim and Spock hadn’t met anyone else after Lieutenant Tracey welcomed them in the transporter room minutes ago. Walking through abandoned stretches of hallway usually bustling with activity was certainly strange, but definitely not undesired, considering the present company.

There was a noticeable bounce in Jim’s step as they entered the lift. “Deck five.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as they began moving. After the exhale, he declared softly, “I’m so happy to be home.”

Jim’s lashes parted and he looked up at Spock, their gazes meeting.

“I am certain the crew will share an equal sentiment, now that you are in command.” There was a pause and the corners of Spock’s lips barely twitched up before he added, “Captain.”

A flash of pearly white teeth appeared as Jim smiled widely, and then the lift stopped to deposit them on the level which was host to their living quarters.

It was _their_ living quarters, this time—no longer separate, smaller rooms which divided them. Jim felt his heart flutter as they approached the door. This was something he had wanted so badly during their first mission together, but it was impractical at the time.

They had always chosen to keep the existence of their relationship private before their bonding had taken place, if only to remain professional and effective in the eyes of their crew and higher-ups at Starfleet.

Though they began spending more and more nights sleeping together as the first mission aged, there was always the clear fact looming that Jim had his quarters and Spock had his own. It was a conspicuous divide in space, covering up what was no longer a separation between their hearts.

But now…

The door slid open, light from the hall spilling into the darkness within.

“Lights, ninety percent,” Jim commanded. The strips lining the ceiling flickered to life, illuminating and revealing the space that belonged to them both— _finally_.

It was large and open… nothing like their living arrangements on the original Enterprise. That was the first of Jim’s observations as he entered and looked around. His footsteps carried him to where several boxes of their belongings had been delivered earlier, and he at last placed the heavy burden on his shoulder down near it.

Large observation windows lined the exterior walls, currently displaying a flawless view of Earth, and Jim could only imagine the beautiful view they would be treated to once they were in deep space. Above each transparent aluminum frame was an automatic shade that could be lowered for privacy, but he imagined that was a feature they wouldn’t often be employing.

The room had an intriguing design, with curved ledges and walls dividing different spaces; Terran potted plants were scattered about to add splashes of life and color. To the far left was a separate room with a conference table, close to where their personal effects had been neatly placed.

“And I thought the design drawings were amazing,” Jim remarked. “They don’t even _begin_ to do this space justice!”

His gaze wandered over everything that could be observed on this side–the small sitting area, the replicator, the desk beside a window–and then, Jim was traversing across the carpeted floor toward the sleeping quarters.

“It is quite extravagant,” Spock agreed, following right behind him.

They came upon another door which opened when motion was detected. One large bed was revealed, its headboard pushed up against the wall which was half solid and half made up of a large window. Along the sides of the room were shelving units and small bookcases for personal items.

One bed. One quarters. One.

Jim walked forward, trailing his fingers over the warm, plushy blanket laid over the bed before tossing himself on it. A pleased groan escaped his lips as the cover and mattress conformed to the shape of his frame.

He felt the bed shift and opened his eyes, observing Spock sitting down on his side.

“Well, what do you think, Spock?” Jim asked, turning to him and leaning back on his elbows to push his chest up. “Better than the last refit?”

“Substantially,” Spock replied, his gaze wandering over the large window behind them before meeting Jim’s again. “If only because this space now belongs to us both.”

“Hey…” Jim’s voice lowered and one hand shot out. It latched onto Spock’s shoulder and carefully pulled him down beside him. Once they were lying face-to-face, Jim’s digits trailed over Spock’s cheek and he stroked up the dark sideburn, then over one pointed ear.

“Are you reading my thoughts again, Mister?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and a genuinely contented smile across his lips.

Spock’s hand came up, taking hold of Jim’s wrist before their fingers intertwined. “Perhaps I am always taking refuge within the beauty of your mind.”

That smile never faded from Jim’s face as he pulled their clasped hands to him, pressing a tender kiss to Spock’s knuckles before unraveling their fingers. He placed his palm on Spock’s cheek, his thumb stroking across the smooth place beneath one dark brown eye as his other digits splayed across and under one ear.

“Are you ready for round two, Science Officer?”

“Yes—to whichever meaning you are referring, Captain.”

Beaten at his own game! Jim had been alluding to the commencement of their second five-year mission together which took much too long to come to fruition. However, Spock’s response inspired the very pleasant memory of several hours ago, and how they spent their last morning in the bed of their condo.

It echoed across Jim’s mind—replaying and seeming so real that he could nearly feel Spock’s naked skin against his, almost hear his tiny gasps and the sound of his heart hammering in his ears.

Jim’s lips parted and he stared into Spock’s eyes, almost shimmering. Yes, the next five years were _definitely_ going to be amazing.

As he drew his face closer, Jim commanded, “Lights, twenty percent.”

And then the space between their lips became none.


	30. Parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Old married Amanda and Sarek make some observations about old married Kirk and Spock when they visit them on shore leave. Written for my lovely friend, [Petimetrek](http://petimetrek.tumblr.com), as a little birthday gift. <333

**Parallels**

Like tiny diamonds, the first stars glimmered in the sky through a fading veil of crimson dusk, the streaks of coppers and golds tossed lazily over the canvas of sundown finally relinquishing their immaculate reign to inevitable darkness. A glittering blanket of cosmic jewels would soon sweep across the city of Shi’Kahr, embracing it with the calm of night.

And as the colors of sunset began to disappear below the horizon, the S’chn T’gai abode steadily illuminated—specially configured lights automatically adjusting to preserve it as a glowing hearth of desert warmth. It was the most magical time of the day, when the chocolate brown and mocha colors of the house’s magnificent interior came to life…when shadows were lazily cast upon the dark hardwood floor of the great arched hallways.

One such shadow followed its owner as she shook out the flowing fabric of the purple and ivory robe she wore. Passing by a large oval mirror, Amanda stopped before it and took a moment to run a hand through her upswept locks of gray. The deeper lines of age which creased her face didn’t seem to be as worrying as the stray curl that had popped out of order. She fixed it before running the back of one finger beneath her chin and up her jaw. Then, she gave herself a smile, and continued on her way.

Eventually arriving in the spacious kitchen, Amanda had had the expectation of encountering company, but instead found no one. It was just as well. There would be plenty of time for that in the remainder of this week.

The comfortable black slippers laced about her ankles with silken ribbons carried her to the synthesizer.

“Computer, Terran-style cappuccino. Double shot of espresso.”

A light flashed and within seconds, a fancy cup appeared. Amanda took it by the handle and floated across the natural stone tiles to the center island, where she sat. Her attention was pulled to the two figures that had appeared in the large bay window overlooking her garden.

She wrapped her hands around the heat of her drink and quietly watched, her lips pulling into a soft smile as she regarded her sons. They appeared to enjoy being amid the native plant life she had put in the soil earlier in the year. Amanda could nearly make out some of their features in the dying light, but their silhouettes spoke just as loud as if she were able to see them clearly.

Jim and Spock had been meandering about the property as they waited for nightfall, and had finally stopped the leisurely stroll to stand side-by-side. They were facing away from the house now and looking up at the sky, their arms barely touching. Amanda imagined from the minute movements that they were speaking of something, when Jim suddenly turned his face to Spock and laughed. Spock’s profile became visible as he immediately looked in Jim’s direction, his shoulders stiffening and chin elevating. Jim seemed to laugh harder and then leaned a litter further into Spock’s arm before steadying himself.

Amanda’s smile widened at that, at how well-connected the two of them appeared—now, and always. She had known Jim for the better half of two decades at this point, and over that term, witnessed her son finally bonding to someone who genuinely loved him…seen them both change as time marched forward.

But despite growing waistlines, different hairstyles, and a switch up in Starfleet ranks, there had been one thing that had always remained constant: the image she was observing now.

Happiness.

She brought the cup to her lips and sipped carefully, when her attention was claimed by the sound of someone else shuffling down the hall. Her brows raised as she continued to drink when Sarek approached.

“Good evening, my wife,” he greeted her.

Placing her drink down on the countertop, Amanda smiled at him and extended two fingers—which were readily accepted.

“Good evening, my husband,” she replied in the same manner, but with a hint of delight adorning her tone. “You’ve finished your work?”

“Indeed,” Sarek replied, sliding onto the stool beside her. “It was, as you often call it, a ‘long’ day.”

Amanda cocked her head to the side with a sympathetic look. “Nothing that a hot cup of tea can’t fix, I’m sure. Wait right here, darling.”

She rose from her seat and went back to the synthesizer.

“Computer, Vulcan spice tea—extra cinnamon, less sugar.”

When the drink appeared, she accepted it and returned to the island, sitting back down in her place.

“Here,” she offered with affection in her tone, setting the white mug before Sarek.

He closed his eyes and nodded once to thank her before lifting his face, his attention pulled out the very window Amanda had been consumed with earlier. Silently, he watched as Jim and Spock approached from the garden. Their steps led them to the small sitting area on the patio, glowing from soft lights installed into the stones.

Jim lazily held an open-palmed hand toward one of the large chairs and Spock promptly sat down, the plushy outdoor cushions conforming to his body. Reaching for a neatly folded blanket that had been placed on another chair, Jim shook it out and splayed it over Spock’s lap to shield him from the cooler air which settled over Vulcan during the night.

“I’m so grateful, Sarek. Our son is well cared for,” Amanda said, pulling her attention from Jim hovering over Spock. Her eyes met the handsome face of her husband, finding his brows raised and head barely turned to the side. Sarek lowered his gaze then and drank from his mug.

“You have nothing to say to that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling and amusement in her tone.

“What is there to speak of, Amanda? They are bonded.”

“Do they not remind you of another pair of bondmates?” At this, a strip of white teeth flashed as Amanda’s smile widened and she continued prodding. “One Vulcan, one human?”

The cup Sarek held tapped the counter and he swallowed, regarding her with a look of momentary consternation. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the side door to the patio swished open and Jim stepped in.

His attention fell upon the two of them sitting in the middle of the high-ceilinged kitchen and he almost shied back in reflex, clearly surprised. “Ah, I’m sorry for interrupting,” Jim said, his eyes softening as he offered a smile. “Couldn’t see you from the outside with the reflective windows…”

“Nonsense!” Amanda exclaimed. “You interrupted nothing, Jim. Please come in.”

Jim slipped his shoes off at the door and made his way across the short distance to where they both sat. He dipped his chin in Sarek’s direction. “Pardon the intrusion.” The silent nod which came in reply might have once thrown him off, but Jim had known Sarek long enough to know that reticence was simply his nature; in some ways, he and Spock were more similar than either might have cared to admit, despite the fact their relationship had improved.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Amanda asked. She looked down at her own cup for a moment. “I’m quite fond of this cappuccino myself.”

Jim’s smile, as usual, was infectious. She found her own widening with his when he replied. “Actually, a drink is what I came in for. Are you telepathic too?”

“Sometimes,” she said with a glint in her eye, while waving her hand in the direction of the synthesizer.

A laugh huffed out from Jim’s lips and he walked over to the device to issue his order. “Computer, Vulcan spice tea—extra cinnamon, less sugar.”

At that, Amanda’s brows raised and she looked significantly at Sarek. Jim took the cup by the handle and began making his way back over to the door.

“Sorry again for the intrusion.”

“Jim?” Amanda asked, causing him to stop in place and turn to her. She paused a moment, the same all-knowing smile she had given him during their initial meeting on the Enterprise present across her face once more. “Nothing for _you_ to drink?”

Jim stiffened his shoulders a bit and an airy, almost nervous laugh fell from his mouth. Amanda knew exactly what was going on—had called it from the moment Jim walked inside alone and was surprised to see them both there. He was always so careful to not overdo displaying his affection in front of Sarek—for Spock’s sake. However, the very attempt in itself to remain perfectly neutral always wound up revealing how much he loved their son anyway. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t care enough to try so hard, after all.

When Jim didn’t reply, Amanda winked at him and stood. She made her way over to the synthesizer. “Computer, Terran-style cappuccino. Hold.” She turned her face to Jim. “Double shot of espresso?” Upon seeing him nod, she continued the order. “Double shot of espresso.”

The drink appeared and she brought it to him, carefully transferring it into his free hand. “Go on now. I know how much the both of you enjoy stargazing, even when you’re on shore leave.”

With a smile, thank you, and another small nod at Sarek, Jim disappeared back outside.

The light fabric of Amanda’s robes swayed as she turned and made her way back to the island. Instead of sitting, she opted to place her hands upon Sarek’s shoulders.

“Did I not tell you, my dear husband? They’re a striking image of us!”

Sarek hummed into his cup as he finished the tea. “In some ways, perhaps there is similarity.”

She rubbed her hands upon his shoulders in a firm massage. “I know one thing is certain, Sarek. Our son is deeply loved, because I see a reflection of myself in Jim.”

A moment of silence hung as Sarek watched Jim transfer the tea to Spock outside and then sit next to him. Finally, a hand covered one of the smaller ones on his shoulder and he stood, clasping it.

“In that way, Amanda,” he began, raising the back of his fingers to stroke the side of her cheek. “I can say the same of Kirk.”

Amanda’s other hand clasped over the one that had taken hold of her own and she brought it to her lips, pressing a kiss to it. A mischievous look suddenly appeared in her eyes.

“Come, Sarek,” she beckoned, pulling on him and leading him down the hallway to their bedroom.

The kitchen was left long abandoned thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think aging is a beautiful thing. I find the exact opposite to be true of what society wants us to believe about how getting old is some terrible atrocity that must be avoided at all costs. Every day that passes gives us a chance to become better--to ourselves and each other. I find that to be an exciting opportunity.


	31. I Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: OMS Jim helps Spock drink tea after Spock develops a tremor.

**I Got You**

The little table they had purchased for eating together at many years ago was kind on the eyes. It had been constructed of sturdy recyclable material painted in a dark brown—a pleasing contrast to all of the light furniture and floor coverings in their condo. A vanilla runner had been lain across the smooth surface. Sometimes, the vase in the middle had a flower in it but today, there was a full bouquet of roses.

Spock enjoyed sitting here, enjoyed drinking his tea while Jim sipped his wine…enjoyed eating dinner and the conversation that always came with it at this place once they both returned from work. He had many fond memories of indulging in this simple domestic act, but all he could seem to think of at the moment was how much of a shame it would be if something were to spill and sully the linen…how inconvenient it would be for Jim if, perhaps, something dropped or dripped on the cream-colored carpet.

He exhaled through his nose and averted his eyes from his favorite cup filled with his favorite spiced tea that sat before him.

‘ _Control_ ,’ Spock told himself, his hands taking fistfuls of the loose black tunic he wore. ‘ _It is of the mind. And therefore, it can be—it **must** be controlled_.’

Three days, seven hours, fifty-three minutes, and thirty seconds had passed since the transport vehicle had dislodged from the rail and flung him clear across the cabin. It would take nearly the same amount of time until he could receive treatment necessary to repair the damage done from that event. But until then…

“How are you feeling now?” Jim asked from the nearby kitchen. “Any headache?”

“Negative,” Spock replied, his body rigid from purposely overtightened muscles. No matter how severely he balled his fists to stop the involuntary trembling of his hands, the action persisted, as if to mock his efforts.

His eyes closed. It was so _frustrating_ —not that he would ever openly admit that. That he had suffered whiplash and a concussion were troublesome enough, but having developed a tremor was entirely unbearable for someone who applied precision and accuracy to every movement he made. Spock could do that no longer. Eating and drinking were difficult, and resulted in undignified messes which he couldn’t even clean on his own. Using a stylus effectively was nearly impossible. Even simply reading from his PADD was a challenge from how violently the screen shook.

He was entirely useless. And there was nothing that could be done about that fact…or at least, not until the neurosurgeon arrived from Vulcan in three days, nine hours, twenty-two minutes, and—

At the feeling of two warm hands taking hold of his shoulders, Spock came out from the echoing of his negative thoughts. His eyelashes parted and he stared across the room, toward the front door.

“You’re so tense,” Jim observed softly, standing behind him and kneading his hands to coax him into loosening up. “Relax, Spock. Please.”

Despite how pleasant Jim’s ministrations were, Spock remained stiff. “I find it difficult to do so in this state.”

“ _Relax_ ,” Jim urged in a gentle tone. When Spock still refused, he leaned forward and looked to the ceiling in thought as he continued to work the muscles. After a moment’s worth of contemplation, his face lowered. “Spock, I know it’s really difficult, really… _inconvenient_ not being able to do what you normally do, but you’re not helping yourself this way. There’s nothing we can do about it before the surgeon arrives, so why are you making it even harder on yourself?”

The logic in those words couldn’t be disputed. Spock’s shoulders dropped slightly when he finally released the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“There. That’s a little better,” Jim said, cupping the back of Spock’s neck and rubbing it up and down. “Just hang on for a few more days.”

Normally, Spock might have offered a response addressing the fact he wasn’t suspended from anything which required him grasping to, but he found himself currently uninterested in banter. Strangely enough, he had become unrecognizable to himself, as if he were suddenly an entirely different individual—for as ridiculous as it sounded.

Perhaps that thought wasn’t without merit, however; the tremor had caused such an extreme disturbance in his life. As he considered that, he fought the urge to shake his head when the frustration that had made itself very familiar over the last few days welled within him once more.

Spock decided then that it would be infinitely more productive to focus on Jim’s presence, and he did. The touch of Jim’s hands was like that of his mind: a caress which was soothing and calming. He projected placidness and affection across their link while he continued the massage, until Spock’s spine curved slightly to touch the back of the chair.

When that happened, Jim’s hands slipped away from him. He reached for his own chair and pulled it right beside Spock.

“I’m sorry,” Jim offered, his eyes upon the cup of tea. “I put it there out of habit.”

Spock looked up at him, the inner ends of his brows lifting just slightly. “Do not apologize, Jim. It is I who must ask forgiveness for causing you such inconvenience. Had I not been injured, you would have never needed to take a leave of absence from your duties at the academy.”

“Hey.” Jim’s hand was on Spock’s shaky arm and he squeezed it once—and then again to make Spock lift his eyes to his own. “You’re _not_ an inconvenience to me, Spock. Not now, not ever. This isn’t the Enterprise anymore. We don’t need to worry about the lives of four hundred and thirty crewmembers.” There was total sincerity in his voice. “You come first.”

Spock lowered his gaze to where his hands were still gripping his tunic. Jim placed his own over the nearest one and stroked in small back and forth motions with his fingertips. “You always do.”

Swallowing hard, Spock’s eyes raised to Jim’s face again, to find him softly smiling.

“How about some tea?”

Without waiting for a response, Jim took the warm cup and lifted it close to Spock’s lips. He nodded, encouraging him to drink from it. The spicy scent flooded his keen senses in the way Jim’s love consumed his heart, and Spock wordlessly leaned forward. He opened his mouth and drank carefully, savoring the fragrant taste of cinnamon washing over his palate.

There were no spills or leaks, no messes to clean and no trouble caused. When Spock reclined, he found himself exhaling again while Jim replaced the cup on the table—only this time, it was out of gratitude.

“See? You’re fine. We’re fine,” Jim declared.

He covered Spock’s hand again and gently pulled it away from the material of the tunic. Jim lifted it through the air, bringing it to his lips and bestowed a kiss upon the back of the trembling digits as he stroked the underside. The negativity that had earlier consumed Spock had dissipated entirely, replaced instead by the love he could feel radiating from his bondmate. He had meant every word he spoke.

When the kiss broke, Jim carefully pressed the side of his jaw into the back of Spock’s hand and smiled. “I got you.”

Regarding the way in which Jim continued to lovingly nuzzle against him, Spock decided that no truer words had ever been spoken. Perhaps the next few days wouldn’t be as dismal as he had been thinking.


	32. Operation: Trap a Sexy Vulcan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine OMS Spock using Jim's tummy as a pillow.

**Operation: Trap a Sexy Vulcan**

One does not simply maintain a healthy marriage for decades and not learn the ins and outs of his chosen partner—those little quirks and mannerisms which no other could know without the ties of matrimony interweaving their lives. …Or specifically, it was a Vulcan bond in this case, since he would have undoubtedly been corrected for calling it anything else.

Marriage, bond, either-or, _whatever_. Jim found himself not caring about the technicalities; what he officially had with Spock in the eyes of the Vulcan and Terran governments didn’t concern him. He knew that the force which had forever entwined their souls was rooted in the deepest, widest sea of affection, and that that was something too beautiful for spoken description.

Likewise, Jim also knew just as much of Vulcan stubbornness, and _exactly_ what Spock would say when he finally walked through the front door of their condo. Clearly, he would be exhausted from negotiations that went on into the early hours of the morning and yet, it would be the same song and dance.

‘ _Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans do._ ’

‘ _I am not tired. I am Vulcan_.’

‘ _I will not require rest for another something-something days, XYZ hours, ABC minutes, and blah-blah-blah seconds_.’

It wasn’t even that Spock was being untruthful when he said these things; he wholeheartedly believed them and accepted them as facts.

But Jim knew better, knew _him_ better—knew that, despite Vulcans being capable of going for long periods without sleep and sustenance, _his_ Vulcan had become accustomed to having them as often as Jim himself did.

But what to do, what to _do_ when one’s mate was so adamant and unshakeable in his ways that he couldn’t see past them and recognize what was best for his own health? Fortunately, Jim had enough experience to have the answer to that, too.

He would have to set a trap.

And he was perfectly aware of which one would be most effective this evening. So, he sat up in their bed, reading classic fiction on his PADD and keeping the sheets warm as the chronometer ticked past 01:30.

It wasn’t until right after 02:10 when the chime of the door being unlocked broke the silence and “Operation: Trap a Sexy Vulcan” went into full swing.

Jim’s lips spread into a grin and he quickly switched the screen of his PADD from the story he’d been devouring to the academy messaging app. He slipped out of bed, clad only in black boxers, and slung a robe over his shoulders. His bare feet padded across the hardwood floor and out into the living room to find Spock tapping the security code to bolt the entrance.

“Well hello, Ambassador Spock,” Jim greeted him in a jovial tone as he approached. “So good of you to finally drop by.”

Spock turned with a brow raised and immediately accepted the embrace he was given. “Pardon my delay.” The stiffness his body had assumed all day immediately melted against Jim’s warmth.

Jim smiled into his shoulder and then pulled back, taking the heavy messenger bag slung from Spock’s arm and hauling it over his own. “No need for apologies.” He looked up into those worn dark eyes and confirmed, “You’ve eaten, right?”

“Indeed.” Spock raised a hand to reclaim the bag. “Allow me.”

“Nope!” Jim smirked and turned on his heels. “You had to drag it all the way home. The very least I can do is carry it for you now.”

He began walking through the living space, but made no move to enter Spock’s study to the right. Instead, he strode directly into the bedroom while ignoring the sound of his name. As he was settling the bag down on a chair, Spock appeared in the doorway.

“Jim, I appreciate your effort, but you have brought it to the wrong location.”

“That right?” The robe slipped off of Jim’s shoulders and was tossed atop the same chair, deliberately to cover the bag. He faced Spock then, his black briefs the only article of clothing on his person. Playing along by raising his eyebrows and letting his head slightly tilt to one side, Jim then remarked, “Oh! Sorry. You intended to work more tonight? I thought that perhaps, since you spent _all day_ in negotiations, you’d be interested in getting some sleep.”

“Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans do,” Spock replied as Jim crossed the room and climbed into bed. “I am certain you were already aware of that fact.”

Jim closed his eyes and his mouth fell open with a knowing nod. “Ah yes, Mister Spock. I understand.” He picked up his PADD. “Well, Vulcans can still do their work in their sleeping robes, can’t they?” He smiled and cocked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “I put them out for you. Go change. It’ll feel good to get out of those formal clothes you’ve been in all day.”

There was a pause as they looked at each other, that smug expression never fading from Jim’s face.

“Very well,” Spock finally agreed and disappeared through the side door.

Jim couldn’t help but huff out an amused laugh. He shook his head and brought a hand to his brow, rubbing it and scanning through the messages. Stubborn Vulcan. The dark shadows beneath Spock’s eyes contradicted everything he had insisted upon, but Jim learned long ago to simply appease his claims. Smile and nod. Agree and humor him. Let him go on believing what he wanted to believe.

The bathroom door slid open and Spock reappeared, now visibly much more comfortable. He folded his formal attire neatly and placed it in the laundry basket.

“You have my gratitude, Jim,” he said as he approached the chair.

“Hey, hang on a second,” Jim called, keeping his eyes carefully on his PADD. “Before you go running off to your study…” He let his gaze linger on the device a little longer before finally lifting it. “I was hoping you could quickly look at something and let me know your thoughts on it. It’s about the new biology professor who transferred from the Vulcan Embassy. I’m looking through his profile.”

Spock’s brows furrowed before one lifted, opting to remain where he stood. Jim held out his hand and swiped it through the air in tiny motions to entice him into joining him.

“Are you speaking of Solkar?” Spock inquired as he approached the bed. Upon arriving at his side, he could feel the warmth radiating from it; not unexpectedly, the heater had been engaged at some point.

“One and the same.” Jim still held his arm out. “Come here and I’ll show you.” He pulled aside the covers to make room for Spock to slide in.

If Vulcans sighed, Spock suspected that moment would be the most optimal time to do so. Instead, he did as Jim wished, climbing in and sitting back against the wall of pillows that had been set up.

“Look,” Jim urged, showing the PADD to Spock while slipping his arm across his back. “It says he’s originally from Shi’Kahr, but moved to Raal when he was younger. I was wondering if you’ve spoken to him at all.”

Spock shook his head, settling back against the heat and comfort of their bed. “I have not.”

Jim raised his brows without taking his eyes from the screen. “Oh, I see. I was thinking that he speaks with an accent because I heard him today and—”

“Jim.”

“What?”

“This has nothing to do with Solkar, does it?”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, letting go of the PADD and raising his hand slightly in the air. “I just want to know if he talks funny.”

A breath fell from Spock’s lips and he pushed his shoulders back against the pillows, closing his eyes for a moment. His head shook slightly from side to side before his lashes parted.

“If you desired me to join you in bed, you needed only to ask.”

“Would you have?” Jim questioned, a smile easing its way across his face.

Spock’s dark eyes slid over to his bondmate, the corners of his mouth barely twitching up. “Your strategies are often stronger than this one.”

With a laugh, Jim tugged on him. “When did you catch on?”

Spock slid down and gently rolled on his side, resting his cheek against Jim’s soft midsection. His hand raised and touched down again just before his face. “From the moment I first saw you.”

Jim’s fingers carded through the silky black hair and then stroked it, evening it back out. “Do you mean tonight or when I materialized on the Enterprise’s transporter pad?”

Spock nudged his forehead against Jim and he closed his eyes. “That is up for debate. However, I find that I have endured enough negotiations within the last day.”

Chuckling, Jim took the PADD with his other hand and balanced it upon one thigh. He flicked back to the story he’d been reading. “Fair enough. Then rest, Mister Spock.”

“I assure you, Jim. I will not require a full night’s rest for two days, twenty hours, forty seven minutes, and—”,

“Okay, okay, I get it! Just be with me then.”

“It had been my intention from the beginning.”

Jim smiled at that, adjusting himself and settling against the fluffy pillows as silence fell over them both. Intentionally remaining quiet, he fell back into the story of a boy named Pip who was looking for love from a girl named Estella. But try as he might have, she would always be two steps out of his reach.

Grateful to have not suffered the same fate, Jim continued to softly caress the head of black hair, listening to the soft breaths that fell from his sleeping bondmate. It hadn’t even taken fifteen minutes.

‘ _Stubborn Vulcan_ ,’ Jim thought to himself, but he certainly wouldn’t hold it against Spock. In fact, he desired him no other way—and no other place, for that matter.


	33. Hiding In Plain Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: K/S had/have a very private, very secret wedding on an away mission. Someone from the crew discovers the secret.

**Hiding In Plain Sight**

“Well…” Jim huffed. His hands were docked at his hips, and he stood wearing only a pair of boxers amid the chaos surrounding him. His hazel eyes scanned over the widespread damage that had once been their hotel room.

The most noticeable destruction was front and center in the room, only because of how dramatic it appeared: the mattress had slid partially off the frame of the large bed, its bottom half slumped against the floor. The sheet that barely clung to it was torn in one place, and Jim could actually hear the sound of it ripping when he looked at it. Though it was a rousing recollection, a hand raised to his face and he cupped one side of his jaw.

His eyelashes fluttered several times.

Those once pristine covers that had looked so comfortable when they first arrived? Tossed in different directions across the room. The large, fluffy pillows? Well, there _were_ four in the beginning. Now, Jim only counted two. He had no idea where the other pair might have gone—then, considered they might be behind the couch, since that had been unintentionally moved from its original position too…

Ah yes, then there were the amenities which had started out arranged neatly in a basket, and now lay scattered across the carpet. Even one heavy curtain was halfway attached to the window, the rod it hung from askew from being pulled on.

“Shit…” Jim muttered in awe beneath a very heavy breath, taking everything in once more. He didn’t know if he felt more proud or embarrassed at that moment, and softly laughed, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“Jim?”

The sound of his name caused him to immediately drop his arm. He looked over his shoulder, finding Spock standing in the doorway of the bathroom and rubbing at his hair with a towel. The sight inspired a wide smile to appear across his face.

“Are you all right?” Spock inquired as Jim approached him and slipped his arms up and around his neck.

Their lips met briefly and Jim stroked through the damp black hair as he leaned back just far enough to make eye contact. “Better than all right,” he mumbled though the grin he continued to wear. “That’s my question to you. Are you?”

“Affirmative. Though I find it an unnecessary inquiry.”

Jim was swaying slightly now and he pulled Spock into a strong embrace. Of course he was all right. It wasn’t the first time they’d had multiple bouts of rough sex, though they _were_ much more careful about their surroundings during past endeavors. Jim knew from these experiences just how much Spock could handle and though their room was in a state of total disarray, he’d never given more than what could be taken.

But there _had_ been a first for them during this shore leave… It was the first time they’d ever done this as a married couple. And that, for as sentimental as it was, hyped up the emotional connection of the act.

_Married_. To Spock. Officially. It was now in the records. Jim was officially married to Spock. The realization still hadn’t fully sunk in.

Jim tightened his arms around that lanky Vulcan frame and couldn’t suppress the rush of giddiness that coursed through him at the thought. Their mission was in its final year and the end was in sight…but now, there were no endings neither he nor Spock would ever need to face alone. Not for a long time.

However, since the mission was still ongoing and they had maintained the secretive nature of their relationship thus far, they had decided to keep it that way. It wouldn’t do any good for the crew to have gone almost the entire five years of believing in them, just to start doubting their ability to command together effectively now that they were…were…

_Married_!

The announcement would come after the official bonding ceremony was completed on Vulcan…when the betrothal link they shared strengthened and became permanent.

But for now, as Jim nuzzled against Spock’s cheek, this was enough.

“We destroyed this room, Spock,” he finally said quietly, quelling the laugh that wanted to rise from his core. He felt a pair of lips press to his forehead and Jim closed his eyes. “Guess we ought to try to clean up the best we can.”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed. “In a moment.”

Jim found that he was agreeable with that suggestion.

~

While the room was certainly not in the same condition as it was when it had been freshly cleaned, their efforts proved fruitful: a little bit of housekeeping tidied it up enough to make it at least presentable for the cleaning crew. Even so, Jim dropped a few credits on the dresser before they left.

“Ugh, I need a shore leave from shore leave!” he groaned as they walked down the fancy hotel corridors. Both of their travel bags hung from Jim’s shoulder (per his insistence), and he adjusted them when they reached the end to wait for the lift.

“You did not rest much,” Spock conceded, and they exchanged a knowing glance.

“I’m just grateful this place was so accommodating,” Jim said. The lift arrived at that moment and the doors split open. They stepped inside and Jim issued the command before continuing with his initial thought. “Transporter. I mean, bringing someone in to marry us in private wasn’t exactly customary. I’m just glad we were able to do it that way.”

“Agreed. It is in the best interests of all to not reveal the personal nature of our relationship at this time.”

Jim smiled quietly to himself at that and they remained silent. After several seconds, he looked up at Spock again and asked, “When we’re finally bonded, do you think you’ll be ready for people to know?”

Spock’s head turned in his direction, his brows pulling inward.

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jim continued in sincerity. “If you want to keep concealing what we have, it’s understandable—”

“Jim.” Spock cut him off mid-sentence. “There would be no sense in doing so at that time. The current mission would be ended by then and our union fully completed. Furthermore…” He paused. “I find I simply do not wish to.”

Jim bit his lip as his smile widened and he glanced down at his feet. “Whatever you say, Mister Spock. I guess it’s a miracle that we’ve been able to keep this to ourselves until now.”

The lift chimed, opening to a room with several hotel employees and guests arranging for transport. Jim and Spock entered the space and made their way to the front desk.

“Checking out?” the man standing behind it asked.

“That’s right,” Jim confirmed as he shifted one of the bags on his arm to Spock’s so they could beam up properly. “Requesting transport to the Enterprise.”

“Your room number, please.”

“713.”

The attendant tapped the touchscreen several times and then he nodded. “Very well, Captain Kirk. Thank you for choosing to stay with us. You can both step onto the pads of block B—right over there.”

Jim and Spock walked the short distance to the platform and assumed position on individual pads.

“Hotel Gala to Enterprise,” the man spoke into the comm unit.

“Enterprise here.” For someone who refused shore leave yet again, Scotty sounded a bit too pleased; it must’ve been all the time he had to himself to work on the ship.

“Requesting permission to beam up party of two, Captain Kirk and his husband.”

Jim had engaged in battles with Romulans. He had faced off with hostile unknown alien life, punched a Klingon and lived to tell the tale, wrestled with the Gorn, been falsely accused of misconduct and came out shining. He’d been taken into captivity, and stared into the face of certain death more times than he liked to admit.

But none of those moments— _none of them_ —made his heart leap out of his chest like that innocent question just had. Jim’s mouth opened, but a temporary paralysis set in. Did that attendant just…? Did he really…?

“Could you… repeat that?” Scotty’s voice stammered. “You said the captain and…?”

“His husband,” the man replied, never looking up from his console. “Do you need a name verification?”

“First… first officer,” Jim stuttered. Then, he repeated himself louder. “First officer!”

“Unnecessary…” Scotty replied. “Transporter process engaged.”

“Energize.” When the attendant finally lifted his chin to offer a pleasant smile to Jim and Spock as their images faded, he wasn’t prepared to see two sets of wide eyes and a horrified human expression. He scratched his head. “Wonder what got up their asses?”

~

The very moment that Jim rematerialized, he went bounding off the platform, aiming straight for the control console. Scotty stood rigid with his eyebrows raised and mouth pulled into a taut line.

The words poured out instantly when Jim’s hands landed on top of the station. “Scotty, listen to me. I’m not sure what that was all about but…”

“Enterprise? Could you please acknowledge that you’ve received Captain Kirk and his husband?”

The color drained from Jim’s face again and he lowered it, staring at the floor. How could this have happened? Why the _hell_ did they add that to his record down there?

“A—Aye,” Scotty confirmed. “Enterprise acknowledges.”

“Scotty…” Jim suddenly raised his chin to find his chief engineer looking nearly terrified, his eyes flicking between Spock and himself. Swallowing, Jim’s shoulders fell in defeat. The inner ends of his brows eased up and he put on his best smile. “…It’s been some time since we drank together.”

Jim walked around the console and put an arm around his shoulders. “I think now’s good a time as ever to fix that. I have some bourbon I’ve been saving…”

“Captain, you don’t have to bribe me,” Scotty said, shaking his head. “I didn’t hear a thing…”

Jim relaxed slightly and he pushed out a breath, letting his hand fall to his side. “Thank you, Scotty.” He raised it again to rub at the side of his head. _Awkward_ … “I knew I could trust you.”

“Well,” Scotty began, an uncomfortable pause lingering. “It’s not only that, Sir. Of course, I wouldn’t go spreading your business around. It’s just that…there’d be no one to tell anyway, even if I felt like it. Everyone already suspected. You can’t expect to hide in plain sight!”

Jim blinked several times. And then several more. His eyes met Spock’s, finding them just as bewildered as he felt.

“Scotty…” Jim started, slipping his arm around those red-clad shoulders once more. “About that bourbon… I think now is actually a really, _really_ good time after all.”


	34. Shifting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The mission is not limited to 5yrs, it's ongoing(like in TNG). Yet during 4th or 5th year Kirk is offered promotion. But he totally refuses to the point of telling the HQ to gfo, because his place is among the stars. And he finally woke up in Spock's arms a few days ago, bonded and insanly happy. So there are no way he is leaving the Enterprise. ps: I rewatched TMP again, Admiral Kirk is so said and empty in the begining: so here goes the prompt..."
> 
> Summary: A misunderstanding leads to an argument which leads to making up and then forever <3

**Shifting Stars**

The observation deck was dark and silent—an optimal atmosphere for weighing heavy thoughts when meditation simply would not do. This place in particular, with its massive floor-to-ceiling windows, had been the sanctuary of consolation Spock visited during such rare occurrences. There was a soothing reminder in the rhinestone-studded panorama out there that no problem was too cosmic to solve, for what could possibly be greater than the stars themselves?

At one time, that thought had been comforting. Staring out at the small glimmering lights in the distance to find full perspective had helped Spock ground himself on several occasions. The universe was his metaphor for eternity, and the stars hope and promise. They reminded him that despite his total insignificance in comparison, he had still been bestowed with the most precious, most invaluable gift of all.

And it was because of that gift, that every moment he spent gazing out these great windows at the glittering embers lighting up the darkness, he thought of Jim.

Now, however, he saw only as far as the ghost of his dark reflection staring back at him on the transparent aluminum surface. There was nothing more and nothing left than this.

Or, at least, that was what would soon be his reality.

Spock turned his face. His hands clasped tightly behind him and he looked at some obscure point on the far wall, not caring to see himself any longer. He remained there in deep thought, a statue cemented in place, even as the sound of the doors swishing open and then falling of familiar footsteps piqued his ears.

“Spock?”

He lashes fell for but a moment. Why now? Why, when he hadn’t yet fully centered himself?

“Spock,” Jim repeated in a softer voice, arriving at his side. When a hand touched his arm, their eyes finally met and Spock could detect a trace of concern coming from this man he had come to love so deeply—and also could no longer have.

Jim’s brows eased up and his lips formed into a forced smile. He had known Spock only came here when something was off, and was a little breathy when he inquired, “What are you doing here?”

“I had surmised you desired privacy while speaking with the admiralty regarding your future,” Spock replied dryly, making no move to undo the stiff latticing of his fingers.

Jim’s brows knitted down and his hand slid from Spock’s arm. “I’m not sure where you got that idea from. Actually, I…”

Those lovely hazel eyes wandered to the floor for a second, as if he were considering something. Jim squinted and lifted his chin, then shook his head and finished his previous thought. “I thought for sure you would’ve been interested in what we were talking about, since it concerns _your_ future, too.”

Spock simply hummed in reply. It was all he could do.

“Walk with me.” The tenderness had steadily disappeared from Jim’s voice since his arrival. “We obviously have something to discuss.”

Spock closed his eyes and bowed his head once in silent acknowledgement. He then followed Jim across the starlit deck and disappeared into the hall, leaving the large room entirely abandoned.

Tension loomed like the desert heat of Vulcan high noon as they made their way through the corridors without speaking. While there was no benefit in trying to predict the future when one hadn’t been granted clairvoyance, Spock couldn’t help wondering how Jim would handle this conversation.

He was certain that he’d be let down gently. There would be a sincere apology and Jim would likely offer to help Spock move his possessions back to his own quarters; no logic could justify their remaining in what had become a shared space, when it no longer belonged to both of them.

With these thoughts, Spock wondered if command of the Enterprise would fall to him, or if Starfleet planned to move him elsewhere. Either outcome was undesirable, but it was the hand he had been dealt. _Kaiidth_.

The door to Jim’s quarters opened and they both stepped inside.

“Sit,” Jim said, waving his hand to the empty chair on the other side of his desk.

Spock preferred to stand; he recognized he would have better control with the ability to move around. It would allow him to avoid the empathetic look Jim would surely give him. But as Jim was already sitting, he decided he owed him that much and mirrored the action. Lowering himself to the edge of the seat, Spock’s spine was a straight column.

“So, it went well,” Jim started, casually reaching for the decanter of brandy resting on the side shelf. His hand fell on its smooth glass, but he only turned the vessel in a small clockwise motion before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Nogura had his usual attitude, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Spock merely studied Jim, observing the veil of seriousness which had washed over him. He looked upset—and then was searching for some kind of reply with his eyes.

“Certainly.” It was a drab response, and the only kind Spock could manage.

“Spock, I’m sorry.”

And so, it began…

“I wish I had the opportunity to talk to you about this before talking to them.” Jim’s mouth pulled into a line. “I’ll admit, that wasn’t fair. I know the decision doesn’t only affect me. But you heard how adamant Komack and Nogura were…how they sprung this video conference on me with no warning.”

The request for communication had arrived, right in the middle of their chess match; Jim’s PADD had chimed and not even a minute later, he was back in uniform and establishing connection with headquarters. Spock had remained well out of sight when the conversation kicked off.

It was business as usual at first, but the pair got to the point of the conversation quickly after. They offered Jim the highly coveted position of Rear Admiral back in San Francisco. Jim’s surprise at that proposition and subsequent array of questions after it had been more than Spock could bear to hear.

And so, he left…fled to the only place that could always offer him comfort—to find none there at all.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Jim asked, squinting his eyes, but immediately corrected himself when Spock’s mouth opened. He shook his head in frustration. “Not _mad_. Displeased.”

“What would you have me say, Jim?” Spock asked, his tone icy and skating on the edge of indifference, even though he was anything but.

That seemed to jolt a spark of anger through Jim and he leaned forward. His voice raised slightly as his palms met the desk. “Can’t you understand the opportunity here?! I’m sorry for speaking for you but the last I knew, you enjoyed space exploration and serving aboard this ship. You told me that yourself!”

Spock diverted his eyes, his hands clasping robustly beneath the surface. His assumption about Jim breaking their relationship off easily had been wrong, and he found that difficult to accept. In fact, Spock was unsure just how much more of this he could take.

“What did you expect me to do then?!” Jim pointedly demanded. “ _You_ saw how they were both brimming with excitement, how they weren’t about to take no for an answer. I had to nip it, then and there. Otherwise, who knows what might’ve happened if they had time to think about this.”

“Indeed. It could have been offered to another.”

With a huff and a wave of his hand, Jim sat back in his chair and crossed his arms again. “I thought I was making the right decision for both of us, based on what I _thought_ I knew. I see now that that was a misinterpretation on my part.”

“It appears it was,” Spock agreed and quickly stood. He could no longer sit there and listen to this, listen to the way the promotion had already changed everything. Of course, they had to distance themselves from each other now, but to consider that all of the gentle moments between them were gone forever… It was unthinkable. And in order to come to terms with that, Spock needed to meditate.

“I don’t get you!” Jim exclaimed, also rising to his feet as Spock began a fast stride toward the door. “Isn’t this what you wanted?!”

The question hit Spock like a slap to the face, and he whirled on his heels to face Jim. “To command the Enterprise?” he asked, carefully keeping his features blank and voice steady. “To be without you? To never see you or feel the touch of your mind again?”

Ignoring the sudden shift in Jim’s expression, Spock shook his head twice. “If this is what you had assumed then indeed, Captain, you do not understand.”

“Spock…”

Unable to face Jim any longer, Spock completely turned his entire body and stared down at one point on the floor several paces away. “Please understand that I do not hold you accountable for desiring or agreeing to this new position. However, I require time to meditate on what implications it holds for both this vessel and myself.”

“Spock!”

“Excuse me, Captain.”

With that, Spock turned toward the door but his forward movement was stopped by a hand latching tightly to his arm.

“Spock.” Jim’s grasped firmed and he maneuvered himself so that he was standing in front of him. His other hand lifted and pressed gently on Spock’s cheek, turning it so that they faced each other. He shook his head. “I didn’t accept the promotion.”

Spock’s eyebrows pulled in and his lips parted before immediately shutting. He swallowed hard, studying Jim in disbelief.

“I didn’t accept it,” Jim repeated. “Didn’t you hear me arguing with them for all that time?!”

“I…” Spock began, his body still rigid as his gaze fell. “I had taken my leave after the initial offering and your—” Their eyes met again. He slightly relaxed and his chin raised. “—seemingly agreeable response.”

“Mister Spock, don’t tell me that after all this time serving in the fleet you _still_ don’t know how to play the game with the upper brass!”

Shaking his head, Spock asked in all sincerity, “To what game are you referring?”

The tensity dissolved in an instant at that. A smile flashed clear across Jim’s face and his eyes closed as he began laughing. He didn’t stop as his hands tightened on Spock’s arms and he somehow managed to exclaim, “Come here!” while pulling him into a strong embrace.

Spock allowed himself to be hugged and carefully—unsurely—raised his hands to Jim’s waist. He remained that way until Jim concluded his fit of amusement and leaned back to look at him.

“Spock, I would _never_ leave you!” Jim’s voice was genuine and he was still wearing that smile which always made Spock’s heart beat just a little faster. “Is that really what you thought?”

His hands lifted and he cupped Spock’s face. “Since you left before the best part, let me give you a recap. They were pissed off. They were argumentative. But when it came down to my ultimatum of either staying in command of the Enterprise or leaving the fleet entirely, they started seeing things my way.”

“I am…at something of a loss,” Spock admitted, soaking up the affection he felt from the palms gingerly holding his cheeks. “I had been convinced that you were bringing me here to put an end to our personal relationship.”

“I’m going to explain something to you, Spock, and I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Jim leaned in closer. “I would sooner walk away from Starfleet before ever even _thinking_ about walking away from you. Do you understand me?”

Spock stared down into those eyes that threatened to drown him in utter adoration. His tongue barely slipped out to wet his lips before he felt the touch of Jim’s against them, and then they were kissing and he was melting like ice over fire.

But the arms that had always sheltered him and loved him were there to catch him yet again. And after several more words were spoken and the clothes started falling to the floor, Spock found himself mentally revisiting the observation deck for just a moment—mentally looking out upon the stars once more and bowing his head, whispering, ‘ _Thank you._ ’


	35. Chasing Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: During The Paradise Syndrome Jim remembers he actually married to Spock and loves him totally, madly.
> 
> Summary: Pure angst. There’s a voice in Kirok’s head that screams love, and he thinks the only person it could logically be for is Miramanee. There’s just something about her brown eyes and dark hair, her hands… And then he realizes.

**Chasing Ghosts**

It was there, every time she drew near—every time her arms closed around him tightly and her lips touched his. It was there, in her tawny eyes, in the sound of her voice, in the sway of her hips and the way the garments fell free from her skin. It was there in the beating of her heart.

It was there, especially when she came to him like this—naked and unashamed, one bare foot landing softly before the other—while the small fire made light and shadow dance across the beauty of her form.

It was there, this feeing, because…it had always been.

Kirok’s lashes fluttered, intoxicated by the shape of her figure and the ardor in her eyes. His lips parted and he exhaled. He reached for her. He cupped her cheek and tilted her face back. Their lips met. He took her in his arms and he loved her.

Because he’d always loved her.

Or that’s what those distant, indiscernible feelings told him from somewhere deep within his mind. Though they were shrouded by a thick veil of amnesia and he was uncertain of the story that comprised his past, Kirok was extremely sure of one thing: He’d only loved once in his life, and the phantom memories that inspired these feelings told him he could never love another this much again.

With this limited information, he saw only two options. He could chase ghosts for the rest of his days in futile attempt to repair the gaping chasm in his memory, or he could follow the warmth that flared in one specific place in his mind…the place that seemed to always lead him somewhere safe.

It was likely that he would never ascertain what he’d done in the past or where he’d come from. But he knew one thing. He was consumed by an overwhelming affection that followed him from the time he couldn’t remember, and it threatened to swallow him whole now.

Their lips pulled away slowly, and Kirok pressed a trail of delicate kisses upon the soft skin of Miramanee’s shoulder before sweeping her up into his arms—the same arms with which he had the faint recollection of long ago vowing to protect and shelter the one he loved.

~

Melting snowcaps from the distant mountains had formed a great waterfall to the east, which in turn, fed the river and provided its heartbeat and character: a steady current which was calm enough to fish and play and bathe in.

The afternoon light reflected off the clear water that lazily coursed to the west; however, it wouldn’t be long after traveling in that direction when the river would meet the sea and become part of something more—something greater. And yet, it continued to flow peacefully in the same direction, utterly oblivious to the larger role it played in the world.

Sometimes, Kirok found himself wondering if he were really any different.

He sat beneath the shade of what had become his favorite tree, and simply observed as the water calmly went along its way. The bizarre attire he had been wearing when he emerged from the temple had been long ago set aside, in favor of the soft hide clothing he now donned each morning.

But something wasn’t right about that, and Kirok knew it.

He sat with his feet planted firmly against the dirt, holding his bent knees close to his chest. That golden shirt and its shiny embellishments had clearly meant something once. When he ran his fingertips over those adornments and the soft unnatural fabric, he felt a strange sense of fondness…felt the heavy weight of longing sinking into his very core.

But what did it mean? What _could_ it mean?

One of Kirok’s hands retreated from his knees as the questions assaulted his mind once more. He brought it to his face and stretched his palm wide, massaging both temples with his thumb and middle finger. Closing his eyes, he found some peace in the act of rubbing these points, but not much—not to the extent he somehow knew there could be. That was…unattainable.

The shadow of a memory had formed weeks ago when he’d absentmindedly rubbed the side of his face. This act stimulated remote impressions of pleasure and calm, and he found himself seeking for the hand of another to touch him there—to remind him what it actually meant.

Passing curiosity quickly turned into frustration and a fervid desire when his fingertips grazed across certain areas of his cheek, but never so strongly as when he touched his temple. This undefinable need roused so immensely within him that it almost seemed his mind itself was reaching for something in desperation.

Unable to explain it, however, he’d simply blamed it on throbbing pain. A headache. However, when Miramanee had caressed his temples as he’d yearned for, Kirok was left unsatisfied. His mind ached for something different and greater than what any two hands could ever possibly offer him—but what more could there be than the pleasures of physical contact?

He could make no sense of it.

And that was when these questions had begun the barrage, ravaging him as he stared deeply into the cryptic void in his mind. There was so much that he desperately needed an explanation for, but the only answer he ever received was the echoing of his own inquiring voice.

Kirok had begun to question his sanity, not for the first time. His eyes remained closed and he continued to rub at his forehead, even as the sounds of snapping branches and rustling leaves alerted him to someone’s approach.

Two small hands landed abruptly on his broad shoulders and then he felt a gentle breath spilling over him from behind.

“Are you unwell, my husband?” Miramanee asked, concern in her voice.

Kirok’s digits slipped off his face and he turned to look at her. Though the smile he offered was small, it was also genuine. “I’ll be all right,” he replied quietly and then softly brushed his fingertips over her knuckles. For an unknown reason, he had always been so drawn to Miramanee’s hands and found comfort even now as he stroked the back of one tenderly. “I’m just thinking.”

Pulling her lips in a little tighter, Miramanee furrowed a brow. Her grasp slipped away from his skin that was damp with the sweat of working in the sun all day, and she sat beside him. Leaning in, she seemed even more perturbed and reached to touch his arm. “Are you seeing the strange dreams again?”

The tiny smile faded from Kirok’s lips and he cast his gaze out to the river.

“I see…” Miramanee trailed off.

“Every night, I feel I come one step closer to remembering,” he spoke, swiping his thumb at his jaw. Kirok closed his eyes and shook his head in short rapid succession as he paused and then continued, “Shadowed figures, voices and lights…noises that I can’t explain…” His lashes parted then. “ _Feelings_ I’m unable to describe.”

Silence temporarily fell between them, except for the sounds of rushing water and birds chirping.

“Sometimes, I feel there’s…” Kirok’s fist tightened as he trailed off and then relaxed it. His voice became quieter. “Sometimes I feel out of place.”

“You are unhappy here with me?”

The question was immediate, and so was Kirok’s response. His chin raised and his eyes instantly sought Miramanee’s, recognizing a familiar look of melancholy and uncertainty within them.

“No!” He reached up and took her arm. In a stronger voice, he affirmed his position. “No, I’m very happy with you.” He swallowed and then raised that same hand further, brushing several locks of hair behind her ear. The corners of his lips twitched as Miramanee’s features relaxed and she smiled at him.

Taking hold of his wrist, she pulled his hand back just slightly and kissed his fingers, as he had done to her countless times. “You honor me, Kirok. Though my love grows deeper for you with every passing day, sometimes I wonder if I am truly deserving of yours.”

Kirok’s brows drew in and his chin raised slightly; he was perplexed not only that Miramanee would make such a statement, but at the strange realization he’d heard something similar to that before.

“No…” he breathed and then quickly got to his knees. He reached out, grabbing both of her biceps softly and then cupped her cheeks. “No, Miramanee…”

Kirok’s hazel eyes drifted off to the side for a moment and he exhaled. “I know this sounds crazy, but…” He met her gaze once more and shook his head. “I feel I’ve _always_ loved you. You, with your dark hair…your brown eyes.” A soft grin was pulling at the edges of his mouth again.

And finally, he began speaking directly from what these phantom emotions that haunted his mind inspired within him. He’d been long wary of voicing them, but Kirok decided now that they could be caused by none other than this woman who kneeled before him, offering him everything. “You guide me and shelter me, give me purpose, you…calm my mind and soothe my soul. You’ve offered me paradise, and how could someone want more than that?”

As a tear broke free from Miramanee’s glassed over eyes, Kirok leaned in. Just before he kissed her, he whispered, “Never parted.”

Why those words? They seemed like the right ones to say at the time, but he couldn’t be certain.

~

“No!”

“Closer, closer, James Kirk…”

“—I!” he shouted. “I’m Kirok!”

“Our minds are drawing closer…”

Kirok’s eyes snapped shut and he shook his head back and forth, writhing in pain. “ _Miramanee!!_ ”

_Your brown eyes, your dark hair… I long for your touch._

“Closer,” Spock’s hoarse voice whispered.

_Shadowed figures, flashes of light… Voices and sounds I can’t explain… Feelings I can’t describe._

“No…” The word was barely audible in response, brokenly riding out on a breath that was forced from his lungs, and then he stilled.

_It’s always there, the warmth in my mind, always leading me back… always back to you… Parted from me and never…_

Jim’s entire body stiffened. A nightmare. No, go back to sleep. This couldn’t…

“James Kirk.” A familiar voice spoke to him, and yet it was different—disguised with what he could recognize as muted anguish.

His lashes slowly parted, and though the wind whipped violently around them with a gray sky looming overhead, the only thing Jim could perceive was a pair of brown eyes. But they didn’t belong to Miramanee. No, these eyes were quite Vulcan, and they contained a universe rife with pain that only Jim could understand.

He stared into them and his lips barely trembled when reality began to set in.

~

Two months.

Jim’s half-lidded eyes were locked on the small glass sitting before him on his desk. The bottle of brandy next to it was more than halfway empty. His hands were clasped, and he simply listened—wondered how total silence could ever be so loud.

For two months, he’d been away from this ship. He’d been married to a ghost and in love with a hallucination that had managed to take a humanoid form. He’d been duped.

The bottle was opened and the leathery alcohol spilled into his glass once more.

Jim’s memories had been erased, but his mind still reached for Spock’s—reached out for the love ingrained into his mind that he instinctively knew and needed. However, the only response he had been conscious of was Miramanee’s. And yet, the warmth he felt never came from her.

Every time he felt himself comforted or overwhelmed by affection, every instance of distant anguish or despair…

A huff fell from his lips and Jim tossed his head back, downing the contents of his glass.

It had been the touch of Spock’s mind all along in every one of those moments, while Jim was off obliviously married to another and living in paradise. But there was no heaven there, because though there was happiness, Jim had still starved.

And now as their bond was utterly silent, it seemed he would continue to. After all, what could he ever offer to make up for the damage he’d unknowingly caused? How could he ever ask for forgiveness for what he’d done?

The door to his quarters swished open suddenly without request for entry. A tall and lanky figure stepped into the dim light, arms folded behind his back.

Jim couldn’t bring himself to look at Spock, couldn’t bear to see that pain in his eyes again. So he leaned forward, pushing his face against his forearm on top of the desk and closed himself off from the universe.

The last thing he remembered was a hand stroking through his hair before settling over his psi points.

And then it was ship’s morning.


	36. Written in the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I was wondering if you would be interested in writing a ficlet about Jim and Spock sleeping next to each other?! I'm not too picky! I'm just looking for a romantic, fluffy, little ficlet that is very quiet and loving and warm!!!!

**Written in the Stars**

Jim’s long lashes fell, shutting out the darkness that had washed over the room in favor of the kind that he could see only when his eyes closed. But the absence of color and light wouldn’t last long, because for the millionth time in his life, his mind would revisit the same place—replay the same dream he had seen over and over again that wrote his life story in celestial ink.

His consciousness slipped from reality, transposing into the light of the stars and then rematerializing to where his shoes touched the earth. But not for long.

_He just kept running._

_The tall grass tickled at his exposed lower legs as he moved through it, but that was the last thing on his mind. He had to keep going. This time, he would catch it and nothing would stop him._

_“Jim!” His mother’s concerned voice wafted from the porch and through the summer night, across the fields and finally into his ears. “Jimmy, it’s late! Where are you going?!”_

_Jim had heard her voice and yet his old beat up carpenter boots kept pounding at the ground, carrying him further and further away. He **had** to find it this time. From his room on the second floor, Jim had caught sight of it drifting across the freshly mowed lawn and into the taller grass. And that’s exactly where he’d headed in a frenzied dash without ever looking back._

_He was three years old when he’d first seen it and, mesmerized, had begun to give chase. However, Winona had grabbed his wrist seconds before he disappeared into a wall of grass his size, picked him up, and carried him back to the house. The second time happened years later, when it was on his window sill at dusk and took off just as he’d opened the blinds. The third, when he let the dog out to run in the yard before bed. Then a fourth, and a fifth, and from there, he’d lost count._

_But what Jim knew for sure was that on every occasion it appeared, something had prevented him from following it. Not tonight, though. Tonight, this nine year old boy would finally pursue the path it wanted to lead him._

_…If only he could find where it had disappeared to._

_Breathing hard, Jim slowed to a stop and frantically looked around to see nothing other than fireflies and a trail of grass he’d disturbed leading to where he stood. His shoulders rose and fell, and he waited for several long moments until he finally looked down, defeated._

_He’d lost it again, and he began to wonder if he always would._

_Pulling his mouth into a tight line, he remembered what dad always told him—that there was no situation he couldn’t win as long as he didn’t give up. There was always hope and always a way, but only if he kept going._

_He exhaled out of his nose, quelling the disappointment and accepting that he’d just have to wait for his next chance. And then Jim looked up._

_The dark sky was littered in diamonds and though they couldn’t speak, he heard them calling his name anyway—across space and time, their beckon reached him as he stood on the land of his family’s property in Iowa._

_Jim raised his arm, stretching it as far as he could with his palm to the stars. And like fate, what he had been chasing ascended from the grass and lazily glided up to land on the tip of his middle finger._

_A luna moth._

_However, this one was unlike any Jim had ever seen before. It was silver and glowed as brightly as the stars that flecked the darkness of nighttime with cosmic glitter._

_His large eyes widened and he stopped breathing, staring at this creature that graced his fingertip in a feather-light touch. When Jim moved slowly in attempt to bring it closer to him, the moth fluttered off, leaving a trail of blue sparkles in its wake._

_Captivated, Jim followed. If he could hold it in his palm just once, he would be satisfied._

_The moth flitted lazily, never following a straight path and always two moves away from being gently captured by Jim. And though it was frustrating, Jim’s desire to hold it was more than his annoyance._

_He pursued it out of the tall grass and began to wonder if he’d gone too far from home, when a pair of cupped pale hands suddenly reached out of seemingly nowhere. The palms were facing up, the fingers lax and bent._

_The moth landed in the center of them._

_Jim wet his lips. There was a boy standing under an apple tree and though he couldn’t see his face, Jim somehow recognized him. Somehow, he could imagine dark hair, a foreign complexion, and a serious look written across the other’s features._

_Somehow, seeing this boy made Jim no longer feel home was so far away._

_Slowly, Jim approached him and reached out, gently cupping his hands over his. The moth’s glow was visible from the small spaces between their fingers._

_“I have waited for you.”_

_The words echoed as the colors of the scene around them bled to obsidian…until all that surrounded them was the darkness of space and stars._

_I have waited for you, waited for you, waited for…_

~

 _Beep-beep_. _Beep-beep_.

With a gasp at the sound of his communicator being hailed, Jim tossed his torso in the air. Something was holding his right side down, however, and forced his shoulders askew, pinning half of his body to the sheet when he tried to rise. The weight quickly slipped off, alerting Jim to the fact that his arm there was totally dead to all feeling.

Being roused from the middle of an intense dream, he was utterly disoriented and threw his left hand out by instinct. It flailed in attempt to retrieve the communicator from his nightstand where he always kept it—but wound up only thwacking a soft mattress.

 _Beep-beep_. _Beep-beep_.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed, and then the realization hit him.

Shore leave. They were on shore leave. This was a hotel. He was in a huge bed and next to him…

“Jim?”

 _Beep-beep_. _Beep-beep_.

Shaking his head to clear the haze of sleep, Jim shifted a little closer to the edge of the mattress and finally was able to reach the device. He swung his feet over the edge, flipped open the grill, and in his strongest voice announced, “Kirk here.”

“We-hell, Jimmy boy, it’s ‘bout time!” A hiccup followed.

Jim’s eyes narrowed in confusion and he listened for a moment before he rasped out, “…Bones?!”

“One an’ the same.”

Jim could hear Scotty on McCoy’s side, urging him. “Ask him, lad! Ask him!”

“Hey, now listen, Jim,” McCoy slurred. “Was wond’rin if you’d be up for a lil bit of whiskey chasin’ with ol’ Scotty and me? Cause I gotta tell ya, these bars, they—”

“Do you have any idea what _time_ it is?!” Jim snapped. His eyes squinted and locked onto the chronometer, reading 0200 as he attempted to shake the life back into his right arm.

“Why yes, _Captain_ , Sir,” McCoy replied. “It would be zero two hundred hours and I reckon it t’be shore leave. Which is why I’m wond’rin where in the hell you are. Haven’t seen you in all’uh two days.”

Jim stifled a large yawn and instead sighed when he heard his friend taking a long swig from a bottle. “Look, I’m really tired,” he replied dismissively.

“ _Tired_?!”

“So, you and Scotty should just go without me,” Jim continued, not even addressing the question. “But stay out of trouble, you hear me?”

“Wait, wait. What’s goin’ on, Jim?” McCoy asked. “Don’t tell me ya found a pretty face to bring back to yer room and didn’t tell me because that’s just—”

“ _Bye_ , Bones,” Jim stressed. “Don’t get arrested.” …Not that either would ever do something unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, but sometimes Jim felt compelled to instill that reminder.

All it took was hearing Scotty—who was apparently just as plastered as McCoy—saying from somewhere in the background, “Jim’s getting laid, is he?!” for Jim to slam the grill shut and terminate the communication. He dropped the device on the bedside table and elicited a deep sigh, rubbing at his face for a moment before turning to Spock with a smile.

“Sorry,” Jim whispered as he crawled back to the middle of the massive bed they shared. He fixed the plushy blankets and rotated his right shoulder a few times before settling on that side once more.

Through the darkness, Jim’s eyes met Spock’s.

“If my understanding of vulgar Terran vernacular is accurate, then Mister Scott’s assumption was, indeed, correct.”

A quiet laugh fell from Jim’s lips and he lifted a hand, running it across Spock’s cheek and up through his hair.

“You’re a quick learner, Mister Spock,” Jim said with a grin. He trailed his fingertips back down Spock’s cheekbone—down his neck and beneath the covers, where he sought out a sensitive Vulcan hand. He took it and lifted it to his lips, offering a gentle kiss to the knuckles. “…And quite proficient at demonstration too, if I do say so myself.”

A shiver wracked Spock’s frame when Jim began massaging his palm and he whispered, “Indeed?”

Jim’s quiet smile remained as he closed his eyes and nodded, his cheek rubbing against the silk pillow eliciting a soft sound. When he stopped moving, he kept Spock’s fingers pressed to his mouth as the subtle upward curve of his lips faded into a straight line.

Spock’s eyes were on him; Jim knew that much without even having his own open. And before Spock could inquire, his lashes parted and he met his gaze.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim said, his voice soft. His hand tightened on the one he held, and he paused for a moment before speaking again. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Fate?”

“Yeah, as in, some things are just meant to be? And some people…” Jim pulled Spock’s hand gently down, the slender fingertips dragging lightly over him until they were clasped against his chest. “They’re destined to meet?”

“You are speaking of a universal constant on an individual scale—a constant that specifically affects only one life, which cannot be avoided.”

Jim huffed a breath out of his nose. “Well, I guess when you put it that way, it sounds pretty ridiculous.”

“Jim, Vulcan teachings include nothing of a predetermined future for any living creature which carries a katra.” Spock’s voice was as quiet as Jim’s had been. “To believe that one’s life has been written before it has been lived would be entirely illogical.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right,” Jim agreed and turned on his back, keeping Spock’s fingers entwined with his own and still clutching them close to his chest. “It was a silly question.”

Silence remained between them for several moments as Jim’s eyes scanned the ceiling. He’d expected such an answer from Spock and even believed it himself. However, some part of him remained caught up in that dream. It’d seemed so prophetic… a metaphor, even, for what his life had become. But scientifically, it could likely be explained because of his personality and—

“Jim.” Spock’s sudden speaking of his name jarred Jim out of his wandering thoughts. “May I confess something?”

Jim’s face immediately fell to the side, and he met those dark eyes again. “Of course,” he whispered with his brows furrowing, and then turned back on his side to give Spock his full attention. “What is it?”

“That I have met you has made me question such logic.”

Swallowing hard, Jim shook his head and pursed his lips to ask Spock to elaborate, but he soon found out he didn’t need to.

“It is inexplicable, however…” Spock moved closer, settling his forehead against Jim’s bare chest. “I have a baseless perception that I have waited for you my entire life, that there could be no other.”

Jim blinked several times, staring over the sleek black hair and across the extravagant room for several moments before he squeezed Spock’s hand again.

“Me too, Spock,” he whispered softly. “Me too.”

They stopped speaking at that point, both remaining in silent consideration of the deeper meaning to it all until they drifted back to sleep again—warm, loved, together. As it should always have been, because that was their story that had been written in the stars.


	37. What Logic Fails to Explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Imagine Spock stealing one of Jim's shirts so he can smell it at night.
> 
> Summary: Jim goes away for a two week mandatory conference and Spock learns that logic isn't everything. Pining and insecurity follow. But Jim always manages to put him back together, even if he's not physically there.

**What Logic Fails to Explain**

Just because something is illogical doesn’t mean that its effects aren’t real, or can easily be ignored. It doesn’t make anything less relevant or impactful.

It doesn’t make anything hurt less.

That was one of the most difficult lessons Spock had to learn. Back on his homeworld, everything had been orderly and easily predicted. Life was structured. There were no surprises. It was an easy path to walk—that was, if one’s heritage were fully Vulcan.

_“Half-breed.”_

_“Your father has questionable preferences.”_

_“Your eyes are quite Terran.”_

_“Will you emote today?”_

_“Do not sit beside **it**. It is likely that you will contract a Terran disease.”_

It was illogical to allow these words to affect him, and yet they were the ones that kept Spock awake at night in his adolescence. He chided himself, insisting that allowing these offenses to sting somewhere inside of him was irrational—that if he were entirely Vulcan, he would have no issue with dissolving it all into something useful.

So, he meditated for long hours, long past the time his mother called him to dinner. He collapsed inwardly on himself, turning these indignities around over and over again in his mind to strip the emotional fallout attached to them—to reduce them to nothing more than data. After all, he had decided that what could not be explained logically must not exist, and that it must only be an ill effect of having emotional human blood clouding his very Vulcan judgement.

Spock exited his trance, only when Amanda knocked on his door and hesitantly peered into his room. He came out from it slightly more Vulcan, he decided.

But deep down, it still hurt. And it would never stop hurting.

However, pain like this wasn’t mathematical and couldn’t be explained in numbers, so therefore… therefore…it wasn’t real. Spock lifted his chin. He was becoming more and more like his father every day. Someday, he would be a real Vulcan and no longer an outcast.

Except that never happened. And the same story repeated itself like a recurring nightmare, long after Spock had taken his leave of the desert world that had been both his home and exile—long after Sarek had disowned him. He was disowned for following his own belief that he’d be more useful with a tricorder than with his head down writing code all day. He was disowned for being illogical.

And if that meant he didn’t exist, Spock sometimes found himself thinking that maybe it would have been for the better.

~

The bathroom door swished open and Spock hesitantly stood there, PADD in hand and held behind his back. His fingertips tapped upon the device. He stood so still that the door closed on him again, and he shut his eyes for a moment.

_Ridiculous._

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and then entered Jim’s quarters. The lights elevated automatically to sixty percent and Spock looked around the empty sleeping alcove, breathing deeply to allow the familiar scent to flood his senses.

He swallowed and lowered his eyes.

This was inexplicable behavior. Why he should have felt compelled to visit this place while Jim was off-ship for a mandatory two week conference was lost on him; however, Spock couldn’t resist it. He’d meditated. He’d left his quarters in favor of visiting one of the science labs and the bridge. But every time he returned, he would stare at the door which connected their rooms and the desire to return here flared within him.

And now, here he was.

He wasn’t doing anything that would be uninvited or cause Jim distress; in fact, for over a year now, Spock had spent more time on this side of their shared bathroom than on his own.

Spock’s gaze drifted over to the bed he’d grown accustomed to sleeping in and recalled what it was like to lie there. He recalled the physical sensation of Jim’s arms locked around him during ship’s night and the warmth he generated that no amount of blankets could ever match.

After allowing these memories to surface, Spock suddenly became hyperaware that this place was much too cold and much too empty. He realized he shouldn’t have come back, because an atmosphere of Jim’s scent without Jim’s presence did very little to soothe the fact that his company was sorely missed.

Straightening his spine, Spock clasped his PADD tighter behind him. That was an irrational thought. Jim had been gone for over a week now. It wasn’t that long. About to turn back to his own quarters, Spock stopped in place when his eyes landed on their chess game; it was visible through the divider and suspended in time, half-finished.

He found Jim’s approach to this game fascinating. His strategies never made sense…until they suddenly did and it became too late to have any chance at winning the match.

Softly, Spock placed his PADD down on the ledge near the bed. Then, his boots carried him across the floor to the other side. He didn’t need to see the positioning of the pieces to analyze this game; he had a perfect memory of where they had left off the night before Jim’s disembarkation. But at the same time, he felt compelled to physically view it—felt compelled to reach forth and touch the ivory king which belonged to Jim.

Spock’s hand stopped, fingertips millimeters away from making contact.

What was he doing?

Why was he still here?

The questions numbed him to the temperature and the silence, and logic swept in with full force. This was unbecoming of a grown adult, to feel the loss of one who wouldn’t be gone forever. It was unVulcan-like and unproductive. And with that, Spock abruptly about-faced.

That’s when he saw it: a neatly folded piece of paper, innocently resting atop Jim’s clean desk. Why Jim would utilize such a precious resource was lost on Spock. In the favors of electronic communication and environmental preservation, no one used this material any longer.

…unless they didn’t want their message to be tracked.

He stalked over to the desk, picked up the note, and gently opened it in curiosity.

_That’s our bed. Use it. xoxox_

With no one around to hear it, Spock exhaled forcefully out of his nose and then shook his head. Jim always knew. Somehow, he always knew. And somehow, he comforted and validated Spock even when he wasn’t even physically present.

The note was refolded and carefully slipped into a pocket. Spock’s footsteps carried him back to the sleeping alcove. He wasn’t in his night robe yet, but the bed called to him and he responded. He slipped his boots off. Surak could absolve him of lying down here for a few minutes.

Pulling the covers back, Spock slipped inside and let himself be surrounded by Jim’s scent. He closed his eyes and laid his head against the pillow—to find it was lopsided. He reached underneath, feeling soft material, and then drew it into his sight.

Jim’s shirt. The one he wore the day before they’d left him at Starbase 23.

Spock stared at the gold fabric in his hand for several moments before he brought it to his face. He inhaled deeply and didn’t exhale. His grasp tightened on the tunic and several moments later, he released the breath he’d held.

He missed Jim. He missed him. This had been the first lengthy amount of time since the commencement of their mission in which they’d been separated. And though it was only for two weeks, all Spock could think of at the moment was how much he wanted Jim to come back. He’d grown so used to always having him around that being without him now had him doing crazy things.

Like lying in their bed while still dressed. Like holding to Jim’s uniform. Like desiring to touch Jim’s belongings and wanting to hear his voice.

Like acknowledging the fact that he was missing Jim so much.

It wasn’t logical. But it was true. And it was real. And all the meditation in the universe couldn’t make up for the fact that Jim had become so deeply rooted within Spock that being without him was like being naked.

The quiet ping from his PADD was unexpected. Spock reached over to the device and looked at the screen.

One new message, from Jim: “How’s it going?”

Somehow, he always knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as a prologue to another ficlet I wrote, named [I Missed You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3558830/chapters/8252635). It's slightly nsfw, but details what happens when Jim finally comes back. :D


	38. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, years later, Spock would wonder what even had made him fight it to begin with.
> 
> Written from a first line generator prompt.

**First Kiss**

**It was time. He’d fought against it for so long** —too long.

How many nights had been spent in the darkness of his quarters, in futile attempt to quell these thoughts? How many times had he pulled himself free from the confines of his sheets, dragged himself over to his meditation stone, and assumed the position to push them out?

Every night.

Every night, the urge mounted. Every night, the desire ran rampant throughout him and wreaked havoc in his orderly mind. Every night, he failed to rid himself of it. Every night, he found himself staring out the window above his bed and taking in the view—a view which he had realized was a metaphor for what he carried with him. The darkness of space splattered with brightly shining stars was just as beautiful, unbreakable, and constant.

It was just as damning.

And yet, he fought it anyway, knowing well enough he was destined to lose. He struggled and contended to bury it for hours, which turned into days, which turned into weeks and then months and years—only to bring him right here to this very moment, standing in the exact place he started.

But no longer. Now, he would finally take a step. He could have denied himself this until the end of his life, but to have those emotional human eyes upon him—waiting and filled with so much hope—was more than he could ever bear.

All it took was a subtle change in the brow to transform that expression of anticipation to concern, and that was when Spock realized he’d taken much too long to respond to the question he was asked.

The moment had hung between them, their faces close and their noses barely touching. Spock could feel the displacement of soft breaths spilling over his sensitive skin as Jim began to pull away.

That was when his hand raised quickly. A protest.

“Jim.”

Vulcan fingertips gingerly touched the side of a human face, sliding over it so that the palm of Spock’s hand cupped Jim’s cheek and kept him from retracting any further than he already had. Spock’s eyes softened and he quietly nodded multiple times. He whispered his one-worded response so softly that he almost didn’t even hear it himself.

Time seemed to slow; how it happened, Spock wasn’t rightly sure. It wasn’t logical. But then again, none of this was. The seconds it took for Jim to close the space between their lips had seemed much, much longer than they actually were.

And then they touched—softly, gently. It was experimental at first, Jim carefully searching for indication that he was overstepping a boundary. He received no such sign. Their mouths parted slowly and Spock felt Jim’s hands rise to his shoulders to squeeze them tenderly once, before relocating to entwine with his hair.

Jim pulled down, bringing Spock’s forehead to his lips and he pursed them upon the soft skin. The kiss lingered for moments that had singularly burned themselves into the archive of Spock’s memory; he was positive that he would relive them every day until his eyes closed forever, and possibly even after that.

This simple action was all it took to end a war of wanting and denial. It was all it took to convince Spock that what he had felt and repressed for so long was mutual—that for as deeply as he found himself in love with Jim, Jim’s own adoration for him equaled it.

This simple action signified the beginning of the rest of his life.

And when their lips touched for the second time, Spock realized that it was all he had ever needed…and all he ever would.


	39. A Universal Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Signs of Affection prompt: a doomed kiss. Except this one isn't exactly doomed. It deals with Mirror!Spock and TOSverse!Jim having an encounter. Written for the lovely [Pywren](http://pywren.tumblr.com). <333

**A Universal Constant**

Something was off with the captain.

First, it was the awkward way in which he and the other landing party members seemed disoriented upon returning to the Enterprise. Spock had understood that to be an effect of beaming up through the ion storm, and dealt with Mister Kyle’s incompetence accordingly. He believed the issue to be closed, but it seemed that event was only the beginning of several disturbing anomalies regarding James Kirk.

Spock silently sat at the desk in his quarters, rubbing his bearded chin before leaning forward. His elbows touched the surface and he steepled his fingers, analyzing all of the unexplained occurrences that had happened over the course of a very short time.

After the transporter incident, it began with the inexplicable leniency Kirk showed the Halkans; Spock had called those twelve hours unprecedented, but what they really were was suicidal. The captain was reckless and brutal; he did as he pleased and would eliminate anyone who stood in his way. But even then, Spock had never known him to be so bold to directly defy orders from the Empire. A crease formed when his brows pulled inward as he pondered what Kirk was up to this time.

Spock’s first assumption was that there might have been more to the story than he knew. Perhaps, Starfleet Command had issued special orders that were to remain confidential. He could have almost believed that…almost. He might have stalled in contacting headquarters if this were the only evidence.

But then there was Chekov, whose life was spared after an assassination attempt. Kirk had murdered others in cold blood for much lesser things in the past. Yet just hours ago, he had not only prevented the painful demise of the man who had nearly succeeded in killing him, but ordered him removed from the agony booth after less than five minutes. Kirk’s adversaries disappeared for simply _looking_ at him the wrong way. To show mercy to Chekov under the circumstances was entirely illogical—just as it was to spare the Halkans.

Then, there were the hushed whispers, the not-so-secret meetings with others from the landing party, the questionable use of the ship’s computer, the absence of Leonard McCoy from sickbay. But more telling than any of this was the demeanor and attributes of Kirk himself, which had all suddenly become polar opposites of the ones Spock was so acquainted with.

The captain had hazel eyes—Spock knew that well enough. James Kirk could strip anyone down to their bones with the sharpness and animosity in his gaze, but now all Spock could recognize was something he was incapable of describing. It mirrored the way in which the hard lines that chiseled Kirk’s face into a permanent scowl had softened considerably.

Kirk’s hands were large, but they had never appeared so smooth or relaxed as now. His lips had never shown even a _glint_ of a smile if it wasn’t brought on by arrogance or smugness…but now they twitched upwards with near tenderness. His voice remained strong and sure, and yet it lacked his signature ever-present anger. Speech that was once littered with obscenities and insults had morphed into something proper—dignified, even. And while his stride still commanded attention and respect, he no longer appeared so ominous.

It was as though when Spock looked at Kirk, he was seeing an entirely different person. His half-lidded eyes that were fixated to the desk lifted after that thought, and landed on an obscure place across the room. After several moments of careful consideration, Spock’s elbows slipped off the tabletop.

He had done what was necessary. Starfleet Command had confirmed no special orders to spare the Halkans were handed down. Furthermore, as predicted, Admiral Komack issued a timeframe of four hours to permit Kirk the chance to carry out normal procedure. If that time ran out before the planet was decimated, Spock would bear the responsibility of executing Kirk, taking command, and completing the mission.

Four hours.

Spock was immediately on his feet, standing tall and threatening in the low light of his quarters. And when he spoke, a certain roughness in his voice seemed to amplify.

“Computer, locate James Kirk.”

~

His hand was uncharacteristically cold. Perhaps it was due to the lower temperature on this Enterprise or the fact he was running around in a sleeveless vest; in any case, it helped to soothe Jim’s tension when he stretched his thumb and middle finger across his temples and pressed the palm region against his closed eyes.

Where the hell were Bones and Scotty? He thought he would have heard something by now.

Jim’s hand slid down his face to cup over his mouth, his lashes parting. From his sitting position in what was apparently “his” chair, he stared down at the floor hoping no one had been discovered poking around Engineering.

The door buzzing startled him, jarring him from his thoughts; it was an obnoxious alarming sound compared to the pleasant chime back home.

“Captain, a visitor,” the guard spoke over the comm unit. “Commander Spock insists on a conversation with you.”

Jim’s gaze fell on the control panel before the terminal atop the desk and he paused before tapping a green button. The entrance swished open and he watched as Spock entered silently, the security detail following.

“Leave us,” Jim commanded. Without question, the guard immediately backed out.

The door closed, sealing Jim and Spock in a room with no other exit—which would have been perfectly acceptable if the person standing before Jim were his Spock. But he wasn’t. Though this entire universe was flipped upside down, Jim wondered if certain constants existed and decided he would test the waters.

“Computer, engage privacy lock,” he commanded and then swiveled his chair from facing Spock. Trying to emulate a credible tone of annoyance, he folded his hands across his lap, blinked several times, and called out, “Yes, Mister Spock. What is it _now_?”

“Captain, we have something of importance to discuss,” Spock said, his hands clasped behind his back as he began to approach the desk. In his peripheral vision, Jim observed that Spock’s movements were slow and calculated—almost like a cat stalking prey.

“On the contrary, we have _nothing_ to discuss,” Jim snapped and forcefully turned again in his chair. He stood up as tall as he could, pushing his shoulders back and hardening his features. “You were given your orders. Do you threaten mutiny?”

“Mutiny?” Spock inquired, cocking his head to the side. “No, Captain.” He stopped his advancement on Jim’s position a little closer than what was comfortable; less than one step separated them now, and that meant Jim was pinned between the desk and shelving units. “I have been obligated to issue a report to Starfleet Command. The result was predictable: an order for your execution within four hours if you do not comply with standard Empire procedure.”

Jim’s head tilted back, his eyelids barely falling as he glared as threateningly as possible. “My memory works, Spock,” he barked and pushed by him with a forceful stride. Spock’s body turned to ensure his attention was never removed from Jim, clearly studying him closely but making no move to stop him.

Pleased to have successfully escaped from that vulnerable spot, Jim decided Spock allowing him to do so was one step closer to solving his questions. He stalked to the other side of the desk. The area was open and provided much better maneuverability should it become necessary.

“You made the same threat on the bridge and I told you to do what you must.” Jim faced him. “So, you did. What’s left to discuss?”

“Captain,” Spock countered, treading forward but maintaining an agreeable distance from Jim. “I have served under your command for two years, five months, and eleven days. In this time, you have proven to be a superior example of what an officer must be to succeed in the Empire. You have brought immense profit and notoriety to this ship.”

Jim crossed his arms tightly, determining how long he would need to unsheathe the knife at his right side when Spock began approaching him once more.

“Since beaming up from the planet, you have acted irrationally, unpredictably, and outside of Empire code.” As Spock came to stand immediately before him, Jim held his ground. “You have essentially ordered me to carry out your death sentence. What I must know is why.”

“The reason behind the Halkan decision will be revealed to you when the time is right, Spock,” Jim retorted. “Starfleet Command—”

“—has issued no special orders regarding the Halkans,” Spock interjected, his eyes dark and cold. “Captain.”

Jim raised his chin and narrowed his brows to make his appearance match the harshness in his tone. “There’s more at play here, Spock. More than I’m able to tell you at the moment.”

With a nod, Spock calmly said, “Very well. In that case, you leave me no choice.”

From the corner of his eye, Jim saw Spock’s right hand raise into the air with his fingers spread in a familiar pattern. Instantly, his arms unfolded and Jim swatted the hand away with the back of his own. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you go back to your quarters and count down to the moment of my execution, Spock? Isn’t it part of _Empire order_ to obtain captaincy at any possible chance?” Jim snapped. “Isn’t that what you ultimately want? To assassinate me and take command of this ship?”

He hadn’t expected to see Spock’s eyes widen the way they did—hadn’t expected to feel those deft Vulcan hands take tight hold of his shoulders and slam him back against the bulkhead. Spock’s body crushed Jim’s against the wall, their faces ending up so close that their breaths intermingled.

“That you should speak this way when…” Spock’s words were barely above a whisper when he abruptly stopped himself, instantly regaining control. At that moment, Jim knew what nerve he’d struck, and all the pieces suddenly came together.

“Understand this. I have breached every regulation to come to you here, James. I will find out what I must know.”

Spock pulled away just enough to free his right hand. He ripped the phaser off of Jim’s belt and tossed it behind him without ever removing his piercing eyes from Jim’s. And then his hand raised again, the digits slowly spreading and approaching Jim’s psi points.

Not having two arms pinning him was the advantage Jim had been waiting for. His left hand whipped up, striking Spock as hard as he could manage in the ribs. The blow caused a change in Spock’s position as he curved his back, further freeing Jim. Jim’s hands shot out to shove Spock back, and then he launched himself from the wall—throwing the full force of his weight forward.

Their bodies collided and they both tipped over, merging into a mass of flailing limbs struggling for balance and weapons. When Jim landed directly on top of Spock, they both had a blade pressed to the other’s throat.

Breathing heavily, they stared into each other’s eyes. Their hearts pounded, the curves of Jim’s frame fitting perfectly into the angles of Spock’s—and apparently in the right places, too. As their severe gazes remained locked over several moments, Jim felt a mass beginning to jut against him.

“So,” he whispered, with Spock’s knife pressed to his neck. “It’s a universal constant after all.”

Through heavy breaths, Spock replied just as softly, “Specify.”

Jim hesitated, studying the same dark eyes he had stared into countless times in his own universe. It was insane, but he found his heart reaching for the man he had pinned—realized he was able to read this Spock as well as he could read his own. The amount of skin-to-skin contact resulted in an influx of emotional transference, and in that moment Jim knew that he wouldn’t be harmed.

Slowly, Jim released the pressure of the blade he held to Spock’s flesh and lifted it until he could safely toss it to the side. As he did so, he felt Spock pull the weapon away from his own. And when there was adequate space, Jim leaned down and pressed his lips against his.

They kept their eyes open, staring at each other as their mouths opened and closed, kissing once, twice, and then three times before their tongues met. After several moments, Jim pulled back just enough to breathe.

By them both maintaining intensity in the eye contact they shared, Jim read all the questions Spock was asking as if he were back where he belonged. And just like when he was back home, he found himself incapable of dishonesty.

With a shake of his head, he panted, “No, Spock. I’m not your captain.”

“No,” Spock softly agreed, and then swallowed hard. “However, I find myself desiring that you were.”

Jim’s brows furrowed, wondering if he’d misread the entire situation and prematurely came to the conclusion that his counterpart here was romantically involved with the Spock he was straddling now. His lips parted to speak, but Spock beat him to it.

“But I must have my captain back,” he said, his voice quiet and low. “Just as I am quite sure my counterpart must have you.”

Jim watched him for several moments before he slowly nodded and then carefully pushed himself up. When he was standing, he extended his hand to help Spock.

Spock stared at the offer for several moments and then took it. He was pulled to his feet and then closely followed Jim to the transporter room…but not before he had one last fleeting glimpse of the life he wished he could have. However, this captain had spoken of a universal constant, and if that truly existed, Spock began to consider that perhaps—just perhaps—he one day could.


	40. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet for the [Old Married Spirk Challenge](http://oldmarriedspirk.tumblr.com). <3
> 
> I started this off from a first line prompt generator.

**Confessions**

He wanted to tell him how much he loved him but they were words that were utterly impossible to speak, simply because Spock didn’t know which ones to use. As a scientist, accuracy in observation meant everything, and that presented a large problem in the situation at hand. How could he describe something that had no limit, no form, and no boundaries? How could he put a name to the multitude of emotions that caused his breath to hitch?

Spock couldn’t even begin to fathom how to express the depth of his regard for Jim—had no clue how to articulate the way in which the look of affection in those human eyes could make his heart beat faster.

It hammered now, stimulated once more by the softness in Jim’s features and the realization that his confession needed to happen in this moment or it never would. Butterflies flitted about in Spock’s side with the rise in anticipation and pressure from being unsure how to put all of the things he was experiencing into coherent sentences.

Nothing in his mind made sense any longer and everything surrounding him appeared strangely dreamlike. Dim accent lights flecking the dark ceiling made every metallic surface on the observation deck take on a hazy, ethereal glow. The large transparent aluminum window they stood in front of, just as they had so many times before, seemed like something out of a storybook now—something fabricated while meditating or conjured in the imagination. But it was all made tangible by the quiet humming of the Enterprise sailing across the stars at warp speed, by the deep breaths which filled Spock’s lungs.

This was reality, and at the same time it wasn’t. An entire universe blossomed around them, thrumming with life and unknowns, but the only thing Spock could see clearly now were Jim’s eyes. They were asking questions, studying him, possibly seeking confirmation of the one simple thing Spock was trying so hard to say.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through him and Spock’s tongue poked out to wet his lips before they parted. As he drew a breath, his shoulders lifted, but he stalled without uttering a sound. It took several awkward seconds of silence before Spock realized that what he was attempting to do couldn’t be done. No language anywhere would allow him to string together the right combination of words that would accurately describe just how much Jim meant to him.

Jim deserved to know, however– _needed_ to know, because all humans required that reassurance. And it was in his failure to voice it that Spock began to think he had no business being a human’s mate. If he couldn’t force himself to speak three tiny words out loud, how could he ever become anything else that Jim needed him to be? It should have been so easy, but there Spock was, once again inwardly fighting the same war with himself—struggling to be both Vulcan enough and Terran enough, and succeeding at being neither.

He relented, finally giving up trying to achieve the impossible.

With his eyes closing, Spock barely shook his head at the stalemate he’d caused and turned his face to the side. He would be satisfied if Jim simply walked away from him here and left him to drown in his own ocean of silence. He could apologize and attempt to explain himself later, but for now…

The touch of warm hands pressing to his arms brought his attention back to where he was in the present. When he felt Jim’s fingers gingerly latch to the material of his blue tunic, Spock’s lashes parted to find a pair of pink lips slowly approaching him.

Jim’s eyes were half-lidded, apparently studying Spock’s reaction to his advance, and when he received no protest, their mouths touched in a gentle kiss. The act was nothing new between them, but it somehow felt as though it were the first time all over again. Without ever breaking the gaze they shared, their lips separated as tenderly as they pressed together—slowly retreated until they breathed the same breaths and Spock’s chin barely trembled.

When the heels of Jim’s boots finally tapped the ground again, a tiny smile eased its way across his face. “It’s okay.” His grasp slipped down the length of Spock’s arms until their hands met and their fingers latticed together. Jim drew them up so that he could press a kiss to Spock’s knuckles. He closed his eyes and dragged the bottom of his lip across them before he softly whispered, “I know.”

Spock’s brows furrowed. _Know what?_

In the very distant future, after their hands had clasped in sickbay and their palms and digits were separated by glass…after a ship, a son, and a career had been traded to restore Spock’s life and a trip through the past restored his memory…after a heavy blanket had been draped across his shoulders when he sat before a campfire and a visit had been paid to comfort him following a polarizing betrayal…

…After their bed was permanently on Earth and no longer among the stars, after Jim fell asleep with his head of gray hair pressed against Spock’s shoulder one night, Spock would finally find his answer to that question.

His arm tightened around Jim as he stared into the darkness of their room and considered his dilemma again. After all of these years spent together, Spock still couldn’t say it out loud. But as deft Vulcan fingers pressed hard against bare human skin, there was the familiar comfort in admitting that it would be illogical to attempt measuring the immeasurable or describing the indescribable—that actions spoke louder than words. But was that how Jim also saw it?

The sudden groan at his side disturbed Spock’s thoughts, followed by Jim trying to shift around. When it finally dawned on his sleep-addled mind that he couldn’t move anywhere, Jim gently cleared his throat before whispering, “Spock, you’re…you’re squeezing me.”

“I apologize,” Spock replied softly, loosening his grasp. “I was simply–”

Jim’s eyes squinted in the darkness before the corners of his lips twitched upward. “It’s okay. I know.” He stretched his arm across Spock’s chest and settled back into his place, hugging Spock closer to him. Jim equally matched the strength with which he had been embraced earlier.

There was a pause. “…You know what, Jim?”

“I love you, too. Goodnight, Spock.”


	41. Actually Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: from anon... "Jim adores that his cabin and bed on Enterprise finally smells like Spock, and this is home."
> 
> aka that one time when Jim realized that Spock was literally his space husband...

**Actually Married**

Spice.

A hint of cinnamon, a tinge of mint. Strangely familiar. Equally as foreign. Exotic. Earthen. Vulcan. Intoxicating.

 _Spice_.

Pink human lips finally parted to forcefully expel the breath which was held for much too long, and Jim’s eyes opened with fluttering lashes as he nosed the tunic he held tightly in his grasp.

It’d been only a few minutes since he’d sat on the edge of his recently upgraded bed to unwind. He’d unzipped his boots and toed them off—kicked them away to finally liberate his feet after hours of confinement. He’d pulled at the back collar of his shirt and yanked it free from his body, had just happened to gaze to the side to find a uniform top neatly resting on the ledge.

The article wasn’t his; it was blue and meticulously folded into a perfect rectangle. Why Jim had been so compelled to reach for it was beyond his explanation, but it was exactly what he’d done. He snagged it by the corner, unraveled it from its tidy state, and without even thinking about what he was doing, brought it to his face.

Then, he inhaled.

The material was filled with the scents of yesterday—of science labs and incense, of tea brewed from the petals of dark flowers, of Earth, of Vulcan, of something else…strangely familiar, equally as foreign… It smelled like…like…

Jim flopped backward, his head and shoulders thudding against the mattress as he clutched Spock’s tunic securely to his chest. The bed slightly undulated in response like it had last ship’s night, when Jim’s lips were everywhere—pursing on elegant palms and wrists, and leaving trails of kisses up deceptively lean arms. His mouth had wandered down Spock’s neck and chest, then followed the path of dark hair further, and further more.

Every millimeter of the journey was guided by the strong pleasant scent, overloading Jim’s senses and messing with his mind. His heart pounded, his vision his blurred, and the only word he could think was more, more, _more_ …

“Captain, Captain, _Jim_ ,” a phantom whisper droned in his recollection along with the sounds of items on nearby shelves rattling from the motions of the bed, of flesh slapping flesh.

Jim’s hands tightened on the tunic and then loosened, the soft texture of the garment effectively snapping him to the present and out of his memories. His digits began to move in small circles as he stroked the fabric, before his mouth twitched up at the corners and his eyes half opened again. They met the gray ceiling, and he thought about the picture he currently made here.

His tiny smile spread, until a strip of white teeth showed when he chuckled. It started small, barely beneath his breath, but his voice grew in volume and soon, he was laughing openly to an empty room.

There was a huge bed in this small space; the size of it nearly made accessing the side cabinets impossible. It was ridiculous to have the new frame and mattress installed into these single-person quarters, but Jim had been adamant about it—cited something about not wanting to move all of his belongings to a bigger room because it’d be a hassle, but there was so much more to that story than he’d cared to disclose.

The closet was filled with command golds and science blues, the drawers with socks and underwear that both belonged and didn’t belong to Jim. Space was so limited; it made no sense for him to share it with anyone else, but there were boots that weren’t his size which took up floor space in the corner and items housed in his desk that didn’t even belong to him.

And Jim had just picked up his first of possibly many stray shirts, which Spock had left on the ledge by accident. But Jim hadn’t slipped it in the drawer, no; it wasn’t just enough to simply play space husbands, here on their ship… No, without even realizing it, Jim was smelling Spock’s shirt in the middle of what was unofficially no longer his quarters but _theirs_.

Like they were husbands. _Space husbands_. The realization had Jim laughing until his eyes were wet. It’d occurred so naturally, so casually that he’d never stopped to ask questions or even take notice.

When the hell did all of this happen, with Spock more or less moving in on this side of their shared bathroom? When had they started eating every meal together in the morning, and sleeping every night in the same bed? When had Jim begun to love Spock so much? His shoulders shrugged up as he clenched the tunic tightly and he chuckled again.

He loved him so much. So much it was ridiculous.

What would Spock have said if he’d seen Jim like this, holding to his shirt and laughing until his cheeks were lined with wet streaks? _Illogical_? _Fascinating_? Or would Spock efficiently recognize the situation for what it was—that Jim Kirk was simply an emotional human who realized after nine months of their relationship just how deep his affection ran?

It was obvious. Jim knew it, had always known it. He couldn’t even see himself, but he was still extremely aware of the kind of eyes he looked at Spock with; they were the ones of a man completely smitten—one who was head over heels in love, one whose heart was positively brimming with euphoria because after _years_ , the right one had finally come along and it was his Vulcan first officer, of all people.

Of all people!

Jim chuckled again and shook his head, finally settling down until the only sound was the low hum of the Enterprise traveling at warp.

At last, a satisfied groan emerged from somewhere deep within his chest, and Jim pushed himself to his bare feet. With a smile, he folded the tunic as neatly as he could, and then reached into a compartment drawer near the bed; it opened just enough before hitting the mattress, and Jim slid the uniform inside to join its other blue counterparts.

He stretched then with arms reaching high above his head, and disappeared through the side door to ready himself for sleep.

When Jim returned clad in nothing but his briefs, he climbed up from the foot of the bed, drew back the blankets to reveal a soft burgundy sheet, and fell forward. His face collided with his pillow and he remained that way for several moments.

_A hint of cinnamon, a tinge of mint…_

Jim exhaled and then turned his face to the side. “Computer,” he said gently.

_Strangely familiar. Equally as foreign…_

He nosed his pillow. “Lights off.”

When the room dimmed to darkness, Jim shifted around until he was buried beneath the blankets. His eyes closed and the corners of his lips curved upward, lulled by the scent he finally identified.

It was the smell of home.

~

The feeling of the mattress moving immediately roused Jim from his slumber and his eyes snapped open. His hand shot out to the sheet and he began to push himself up until his vision focused and he recognized a familiar silhouette.

“Forgive me,” Spock whispered through the darkness. He’d frozen where he was, the angles of his handsome face barely highlighted by the ship’s lights outside the large window behind the bed. “It was not my intention to wake you.”

Jim reached to touch Spock’s hair and allowed his fingertips to stroke down the side of his face before they fell to the blankets. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling them back as Spock slipped in. “I missed you anyway.”

Spock hummed once, settling down against the mattress and pulling the covers up to his chin. “I regret that I could not finish the sample categorization process at an earlier time. It was imperative to complete before tomorrow’s mission on Venziir III.”

“No, it’s all right. Duty comes first,” Jim quietly replied, taking the hand Spock had placed on the sheet between their chests and drawing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the slender fingers. “But if you’d like to make it up to me anyway, space husband, you could always come closer…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jim chuckled. “Never mind.”

One pointed, dark eyebrow lifted and Spock silently slid toward Jim, soon after to be entwined in a tight embrace with a nose poking into his hair. Jim inhaled deeply and his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Good night,” he whispered, gently bumping his nose against Spock’s forehead and then relaxing against his pillow. They lay there for several moments of silence, and Jim felt himself fading back into sleep when…

“Jim.” Spock abruptly broke the silence with a tone indicative that he’d been thinking very hard about something. “Please explain the meaning of the term _space husband_.”

Jim smiled widely and he pulled Spock a little closer. “Maybe at some point in the future.”

He wasn’t entirely sure if that answer was applicable to addressing Spock’s question, or if it was a vague declaration of his intentions. In either case, Spock had relented and in the quiet which followed, Jim considered that this, right here, could be how he’d fall asleep for the rest of his life.

He took a deep breath and Spock’s pleasant scent flooded him again. Jim felt a rush of warmth pulse through him. He wanted it no other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


	42. Hope Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a couple of very hard months, but the HMS Bounty is finally about to depart for Earth and Jim is getting ready to do the hardest thing he's ever had to do: say goodbye to Spock forever. However, just before he walks away, he finds Spock sitting in his room and wonders if there's hope for them after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the acts of intimacy prompt: finding the other wearing their clothes.
> 
> Inspired by [Hope Leaves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3u9sRiQktc) by Opeth.

**Hope Leaves**

There was something metaphorical about the emptiness of the arching corridors in the S’chn T’Gai abode. It was so still, so quiet—so different from the kind of peace Jim had grown accustomed to from being in space.

On the Enterprise, there had always been sound: low hums, chimes, and beeps, chatter and a constant presence of background noise. But it’d become so much more _personal_ than generic mechanical feedback after a certain point. Once the promises were made and the ancient words spoken, Jim found himself rife with harmonious impressions–thoughts that both were and were not his own, conversations he would perceive with his mind instead of his ears.

It was comforting, had become part of him.

A person could easily grow accustomed to being surrounded by noise, he learned…could even discover pleasure in its company. And for one who had embraced it and reveled in subsequent contentment for years, losing the companionship of sound would feel as miserable as the sudden loss of something utterly vital.

…or _someone_.

It wasn’t the first time silence had threatened Jim. Even after he’d accepted promotion and damned himself to a life of being grounded on Earth, he’d done what he could to help his situation. At home and in the office, the environmental system had always been ordered to play white noise on the lowest setting so he could close his eyes, wrap himself in it, and feel whole again.

And when that beloved voice frequented Jim’s mind no more, he’d talk to himself. Each night while lying in a bed much too big for one, he sent an unspoken love letter along silver skeins and threads. His mind softly whispered words that would never be received over a bond linking him to someone who no longer wanted him. But just knowing that Spock was somewhere safe and alive—and possibly happy—was enough to lull Jim to sleep, despite how his heart ached.

Now, however, none of these old comforts could lessen the pain of his wounds and the only sound Jim heard was that of his own footsteps. They gently tapped against polished faux wooden floorboards, echoing throughout grandiose hallways filled with luxurious Vulcan decor. This wasn’t his house; he couldn’t command the computer to play background noise and disrupt the environment everyone else was used to.

That was the least of his worries, however. The bond Jim carried with him was no longer _their_ bond, but a torn and broken road in his mind which led to a void.

It led to nowhere at all. And that’s exactly where Jim was going, himself.

The only thing that kept him pushing forward was the knowledge that Spock had a different fate than his own. Spock breathed once more, but nothing would ever be as it once was. For nearly three months, he’d worked to relearn and retrain himself in every facet of life. The memories all seemed to take quickly–but the emotional components which bound him to what he shared with Jim were never established. A wall remained between them and Spock’s dark eyes just as cold and unforgiving.

They’d never look at Jim the same way.

It wasn’t the first time Jim had faced this truth, this recurring theme in his life. Who and what he loved was always ripped right out from his arms, no matter how tightly he held or how fiercely he tried to protect. But never had it hurt this badly, and never had it taken such a toll on him physically.

Losing Spock in the radiation chamber with their hands pressed against the glass was singularly the most traumatic event Jim had ever experienced. And while he felt relief and gratitude to see the person he loved more than anything alive once more, the truth that they could never be what they once were made Jim experience that loss over and over. But he faced it alone this time. Differently. It was his own burden to bear.

He was so tired, so drained, so mentally overexerted from everything that mattered most slipping through his fingertips like dust. But Jim reasoned his sacrifice was a small price to pay for Spock’s rebirth. And for that, he insisted he was fine.

_I’m fine_.

_It’s all fine._

They were meaningless words he reiterated so often that he wondered why anyone would even bother asking how he was anymore. Perhaps they had nothing else to say and felt the need to voice _something_. But sometimes, no words were better than empty ones.

Sometimes, silence could do, after all. …But now was not one of those times.

Jim paused just before he reached the door to the room he’d frequented during their visits to Vulcan. A lot of good memories happened within those walls, and to be enclosed in them alone left him less than enthusiastic to return.

He turned his thoughts to other things. The HMS Bounty was nearly ready for its voyage to Earth and within a matter of days, Jim would be returning to face serious charges. He could hear the death knell ringing for his career now.

Or perhaps it rung for another reason. He’d have to say goodbye to Spock for possibly the final time and walk away from the one person he’d loved and valued more than anything else—more than his ship, his son, his friends, his work, himself.

But it would be all right. It would be fine, so long as Spock was alive and healthy. And though there wasn’t a chance in hell that Jim would ever meet those same eyes he fell in love with again, he made his peace with that.

After a deep inhale, Jim decided that perhaps being in their old room would be better after all; anything would beat trapping himself in the infinite loop of misery his mind seemed intent on perpetuating. Bowing his head, he walked forward and the door slid to the side, revealing the inner space darkened by sundown.

When Jim raised his chin, he jolted in surprise.

A harsh breath was sucked through his teeth, freezing as he registered a dark figure sitting on the edge of his bed. He blinked hard, remaining completely still until he gathered his bearings and found his words once more.

“…Spock?” Jim’s voice was barely audible.

Spock lifted his head, staring vacantly at Jim as though he were entranced, until he seemed to come to his senses. His long robe hit the floor when he abruptly stood.

“Forgive me, Admiral.”

“No, no…it’s okay,” Jim insisted. “Computer, lights at fifty-five percent.”

As the room brightened, Jim’s brows pulled in, finding the flannel shirt he’d placed on the bed earlier in Spock’s hands. The shirt was Jim’s; it was one of the few articles that he’d left at Sarek and Amanda’s house many visits ago in the event he’d ever wound up here unexpectedly.

This was about as unexpected as anything would ever be.

“Spock, what–”

“Admiral, I must apologize.” Spock placed the shirt on the bed. “I was compelled to visit you for a reason I could not explain. When I arrived, you were not here, but I entered regardless.”

“It’s okay,” Jim said, finally making a slow approach. “You’re always welcome to come in.” When they stood at arm’s length, he added, “Would you like to stay?”

“No,” Spock replied curtly. “I do not…” He paused and his eyes fell to the floor. “I do not think that is advisable. I apologize for the inconvenience. That I should violate your privacy is—”

“You haven’t done that,” Jim cut in and raised his hand. He reached to the side and retrieved the shirt, remaining quiet as he studied it and then looked back at Spock. “Did this remind you of something?”

Spock’s gaze lifted to the item and he stared at it pensively before ardently shaking his head. “I—”

“Oh,” Jim replied softly, answering for him because he wasn’t sure he could handle any more stoic Vulcan nonsense. “So, you just liked it, then. Well, that’s okay.” With that, he gently draped it over Spock’s shoulders and gave him his best smile–which wasn’t very impressive at all. “I want you to keep it.”

“It belongs to you, Admiral.”

“And now, it’s yours,” Jim said. The twitch of his lips disappeared and then Jim’s eyes fell. The tenderness in his tone switched to something low and gravelly, forced. “Please take care of it.”

His hands slipped from the fabric and he turned from Spock, beginning to make his way to the synthesizer. “Can I get you anything? Spiced tea, maybe?”

When there was no response, Jim looked up to find Spock staring at the floor. His slender hands had reached up to hold to the edges of the shirt near the collar and his brows knitted down as he inwardly grasped for something.

Just as Jim’s mouth opened, Spock said, “…You have done this before.”

Shaking his head, Jim asked, “What?”

“You have…put your shirt over my shoulders before,” Spock clarified, raising his chin and meeting Jim’s eyes. They searched him, and then Spock pivoted so that they faced each other across the space separating them. “New York.” His gaze fell momentarily and he swallowed while pulling the garment closer to him. “It was…” His voice grew soft. “…cold.”

“Yes,” Jim said, his reply falling breathlessly at first. This wasn’t the first memory Spock had recalled of their experiences together, but it never went further than the actions themselves. He could never bridge the emotions to the events that would piece the entire puzzle together. What had once filled Jim with hope now left him a little more than pessimistic. In any case, he continued.

“There was a big snowstorm. I put my shirt over you so you could warm up quicker as we sat near the stove.” Jim paused for a beat, murmuring more to himself, “I never liked it when you were uncomfortable.”

A thousand thoughts appeared to pass through Spock’s mind as he processed that. Finally, he shook his head once more. “Were you…not also cold?”

Jim’s eyes barely widened and he felt the dangerous pangs of prospect stabbing at his midsection. “I was,” he answered, vacantly at first but then sincerity overtook him. “I definitely was. But I was more concerned about you then, so I didn’t care.”

Spock stared at Jim, and his face tilted back as he inhaled deeply. He swallowed hard and then his gaze fell once more. The thin lips parted and a heavy breath was pushed out before he managed to say what he’d recalled.

“…You loved her.”

No one moved for several moments. Jim wasn’t sure if it was shock or horror or misery or _whatever_ it was that he felt, but it paralyzed him and gutted him. How could Spock remember his nonsensical crush on Edith before the incomparable, endless love he harbored for _him_.

What could he even say to that? How could he even reply? The sting of tears pricked his eyes and Jim awkwardly rubbed at his neck and turned, letting his lashes fall to bring himself under control. He faced the synthesizer, his mind desperately in overdrive and searching for the right thing to say.

“And yet…” Spock continued softly.

Jim’s eyes opened.

“…It was I who you wished to protect from the cold.”

“Yes,” Jim said breathlessly. He turned so that they faced each other and when he found Spock scrutinizing him, he slowly approached. Taking the unbuttoned ends of the shirt in his grasp, Jim pulled them together tighter over Spock’s chest. He nodded, blinking back the tears blurring his vision. “I have a habit of doing that.”

Spock remained silent and then cocked his head. A hand raised to the collar and he lifted it, bringing the fabric to his nose. He inhaled and then his fingers curled in on the material before they slid off.

“You will leave soon,” Spock declared softly, without looking at Jim. “And I find…I believe…” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the floor before meeting Jim’s. “I find I do not wish for this garment to be the only remnant of your presence.”

Jim just shook his head and his mouth opened.

“You were once my superior officer. And I believe…my friend.” Spock’s brows raised and he whispered, “But I do not remember how our friendship came to be.”

“Chess,” Jim immediately replied, allowing his voice to sound just a little desperate. “It was over chess. Your parents have it. Do you want to play?”

Spock regarded him as if something clicked. “Yes,” he finally said in a much too familiar tone. “Yes, that would be agreeable.” But as quickly as the familiarity surfaced, it disappeared with the addition of, “Admiral.”

The corners of Jim’s mouth genuinely upturned then. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms. This was enough. If his last happy memory with Spock would be over the game they’d spent countless hours together playing before disaster created this rift between them, it was enough.  
  
But as they began to set up the pieces and their fingers touched–as they both froze upon the contact and Spock seemed to study the way their hands looked against each other…that was when Jim found reason to believe in hope once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst. ...I keep saying that recently. u_u
> 
> (Sidenote: If you're following Paths, I'm still working on ch9. Things happened which caused delays. I'm sorry about that. ~_~ I wrote like 17k in three weeks, including 70% of ch9 and two WIPs but nothing is ready to post. Sorry, sorry.)


	43. Matters of the Human Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received an open request to write protective!Jim and decided to add human!Spock to that equation.
> 
> Situation: A transporter malfunction strips Spock’s Vulcan DNA and he rematerializes completely as human. Now he needs to cope with the fact that he’s become what he fought his whole life to escape. Written to the piano version of [Calling to the Night](http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=HMRBlQ-x6bA&p=n) from MGS.
> 
> Science notes at the end.

**Matters of the Human Heart**

The door slid open and bright light from the hallway bled into the darkness within. Silence and stillness greeted Jim and there was nothing more until he finally stepped forward, looked around, and gently asked, “Spock?”

The usage of that name—a Vulcan name—sounded almost venomous and Spock inwardly cringed. Finding he had nothing to say, his lips remained closed and he made no effort to leave where his feet had cemented themselves.

There seemed to be no reason to turn away from the transparent aluminum window he’d been staring out of for…some time. Time was something Spock no longer knew how to estimate. In fact, he had no idea what the ship’s chronometer would read at the present; it was only one of many unsettling truths weighing down on his very troubled mind now.

The door swished shut and Jim began, “Computer, lights at—”

“Please,” Spock said harshly over a breath, and then lowered his head. His eyes closed as he took a moment to collect himself. “I prefer it dark.”

“Of course.” Jim’s tone was tender and he raised its volume only to release the computer from waiting for his order. Slowly, he moved through the space barely illuminated by the lights installed on the ship’s hull. He raised his left hand, its pliant muscles causing his fingers to separate naturally; however, just before they made contact with Spock’s arm, Jim stopped himself.

He swallowed and licked his lips, allowing his eyes to fall to Spock’s shoulder covered in the fabric of a black robe. His gaze wandered up to the hood that had been pulled over the sleek black hair, and then he withdrew his hand.

After clearing his throat, Jim stepped up to the window. His lashes fell briefly before they parted again and he looked out upon the stars instead of at Spock, unsure if his scrutiny would cause further discomfort.

For some time, the room was filled by only negligent background sounds from the ship, sounds which became impossibly loud in the face of loneliness and uncertainty. Jim realized that if _he_ felt that way now, then Spock’s condition was something he could never even begin to imagine.

Removal of choice had long been a method of abuse and control on Earth: forced labor, forced assumption of sexual orientation, forced gender roles, forced laws governing individual rights concerning their own bodies, forced ideas of religion imposed by fanatics, and more… Terran history had been replete with too many tyrants fighting for control of too many tiny pieces of land, thinking very little—if at all—of how their actions affected others.

From centuries of oppression, one fact had been made clear. Nothing was more debilitating or dehumanizing than removing the freedom of choice; nothing could more quickly strip someone down to the very soul than obliging them to become something they were not. It was barbaric—a chapter of the human story never forgotten but thankfully left in the past.

…Until this moment. There was no oppressor this time, but a transporter malfunction. However, if the result was still the same, if removal of the freedom to choose was the same consequence, Jim wondered if it even made a difference.

A large part of Spock’s identity had arisen from the war between his Vulcan and human sides. From the moment of his conception, he’d been on a quest to achieve the perfect balance of both just to exist.

But now, everything was different. Now, he no longer needed to fight that fight. There was no longer a holy grail of equilibrium to seek, no more personal journey to pursue. The decision had been made for Spock, and all he could do now was live with it until someone figured out how to reintegrate the Vulcan genes extracted from his DNA. Until then, nothing was certain.

Jim inhaled. That wasn’t true. There was one thing that would always be constant, even if everything else changed. He wondered if Spock knew that.

“That way is Vulcan.” Jim announced suddenly and pointed in a particular direction, out into the stars. “And Earth…Earth is…” His eyes squinted slightly. “That way.” When Jim saw Spock began to slump in his peripheral vision, he looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Captain,” Spock began. His voice was soft, small. “If you’re trying to figure out if I can still read star charts, then you don’t have anything to worry about. I can.”

“I was wrong?” Jim asked. “That’s really not where Vulcan and Earth are?”

Spock huffed loudly. “Why are you testing me?”

“Am I?”

Without looking at Jim, Spock thrust his pointer finger in an exact direction. “Vulcan.” He swiped it to a different position. “Earth.” As his hand began to fall, Jim caught it.

“Really?”

“Captain, I don’t—”

Jim reached across Spock with his other hand and took hold of his far shoulder. He firmly turned him so that they faced each other.

“I wasn’t testing you,” Jim said, watching as Spock’s shoulders raised up slightly while his chin lowered. The heavy hood cast a deep shadow over his eyes and hid them. “But you’re wrong.”

As Spock began shaking his head, Jim squeezed Spock’s hand and let it go. His fingertips pressed to where the heart used to beat steadily in his side. “They’re here.” Sliding up to Spock’s chest, his palm pressed tenderly upon the left pectoral muscle. “And here. Both of them.”

“No,” Spock replied, a tinge of despair in his voice. “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work—it can’t. Jim.” A choppy breath left him. “ _Everything_ is different now, so please just let it be. There’s nothing you or I or anyone can do.”

Spock stepped back, breaking contact between them, but Jim immediately moved forward. He took both of Spock’s arms and stopped him in place.

“Different, you say?” Jim asked, his tone becoming more severe. “What is?” He released his hold only to clutch the thick rim of the hood pulled over Spock’s head. When he began to push it back, Spock’s hands snapped up to stop them.

“Please don’t do this, Jim.”

Jim didn’t back down, but he released the fabric if only to ensure he wouldn’t push too far. Instead, he flipped his hands quickly to clasp both of Spock’s. “Answer my question then. What’s different?”

“Why are you asking me to explain the most obvious thing of all?!” Spock tore himself out of Jim’s grasp. “Everything is! This body, this…complete lack of control.” He turned back to the window, slammed his palms against the ledge, and braced himself over it. Spock’s breathing became labored as his digits flexed on the surface. “I feel… _everything_ ,” he snapped over a harsh whisper. But when he spoke next, his voice turned forlorn—shaken. “…But I can’t feel _you_ anymore.”

Spock inhaled sharply, straightened his spine, and pivoted to face Jim. “Captain. Please leave me here.” Jim shook his head and just as his mouth opened, Spock continued, “The worst thing you can do is pity me and continue on as nothing changed when we both know it all has.”

“Spock.”

“ _Please_!”

“ _Spock_!”

Jim paused, listening to the heavy breaths leaving Spock’s lips and carefully observed the black outline of his form barely trembling. If words couldn’t provide comfort, then… Jim held his arms out and finally beckoned, “Come to me.” Though Spock’s eyes were shrouded, Jim could still see the lower half of his face and neck—could see Spock swallow hard and his lips began to slightly quiver.

“Come here,” Jim urged in a whisper and when Spock relented at last and stepped forward, his arms snapped around him in a strong embrace. Jim felt Spock’s hands rise and cross behind him, felt Spock’s head lowering and the side of the hood pressing to his cheek.

Jim’s eyes shut as he held Spock protectively, feeling fingers that were still slender digging into his tunic until fists of the material were clenched. “You can feel me now, can’t you?” he whispered, beginning to soothingly rub his back. “It might be in a different way, but I’m still here.”

When Spock merely nodded, Jim reached up and took hold of the hood. No protest was given this time, so he slowly pulled it back to expose hair that had become much softer. Straight locks had taken on a slight wave, the ends curling at the neck and over rounded ears in place of where pointed tips once existed.

The shroud finally fell completely, and Jim’s arm crossed behind Spock’s back again, pulling him even closer. “Please don’t hide yourself from me,” he said softly. “I can only imagine what you’re going through. But I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why?” Spock whispered. “I’m not myself anymore. I’m not the one you—”

“Yes, you _are_.” Jim’s hands trailed over Spock’s sides as he pulled back and then cupped cheeks that had become fuller and softer. “You’re still you. I still love you. I always will.”

Spock said nothing in reply; he simply stared at Jim through the darkness until he began blinking rapidly once his eyes glassed over.

“Shh,” Jim soothed, caressing over Spock’s cheek with his thumb. “Here, come with me.” His hands trailed down until they entwined with Spock’s and Jim began walking backwards, leading them both to the sleeping alcove without ever looking away.

“Let’s lie down for a while and just rest, okay?” he offered, freeing one hand to pull the covers back.

Jim’s hands slipped from Spock’s, and he quickly undressed down to only briefs and socks. Taking the clasp of Spock’s bulky robe, he asked, “Do you prefer to keep this on?” A shake of the head gave him consent to undo the fastening and push the garment off Spock’s shoulders.

Operating no differently from any other ship’s night, Jim left Spock’s thermals on, and then sat at the edge of the mattress. He slid over, extending his arm for Spock to settle over.

Spock took the invitation immediately and as soon as he was fully in bed, Jim pulled the covers over him and hugged him close.

“How do you live like this?” Spock whispered. His hand came up to rub at his eye and he held his breath.

“Now you know why everyone is so impressed by your ability to control.” Jim stroked through his hair. “Though, we do learn to master emotions in our own way.”

“I need to learn. I feel everything,” Spock said. The hand he’d placed on Jim’s chest stiffened, the pads of his fingertips curling in. “ _Everything_ , Jim. I can’t turn it off.”

“Would you believe me if I told you Vulcan meditation techniques help a lot for finding inner peace, even if you’re human? You taught me that, actually,” Jim replied. “If you want, we can try it.”

“Peace,” Spock repeated, as though the word were foreign to him. “For my entire life, I’ve tried to find peace between two very different sides. But it seems I don’t need to worry about pacifying a war of heritages any longer. Instead…” His voice trailed off. “I need to find some inkling of inner harmony if I’m to go on this way.”

“What if I told you you’re already perfect?” Jim asked. “What if I told you that you were perfect then and you’re perfect now? That no matter what happens, you’re all I want?”

Spock pushed the side of his face against Jim’s chest and exhaled, shaking his head.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jim assured. “We’ll make it work, whether we can restore you to how you were or if you remain as you are now…we’ll make it work.”

“I’m confused,” Spock began softly. “I don’t understand the chaos in my mind right now.”

“Maybe I can help.” Jim stroked his back. “When we feel overwhelmed, sometimes talking about it lessens the stress.” He pulled at the blankets, adjusting them to make sure Spock was covered, and then asked, “Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling? I can listen if you want to talk.”

“I believe that what I’m feeling is…” Spock swallowed and searched for the right words. “Despair. Anxiety. Terror. Hopelessness.”

“Understandable, all of them,” Jim said.

“Quite, but there’s something I _don’t_ understand, Jim. Despite all of that, despite all of these negative emotions and how somber the outlook is…what I feel the most isn’t negative at all.” He huffed and added beneath an exhale, “I don’t understand.”

“What are you feeling most then?”

“Love,” Spock replied softly. “For you.”

Without realizing it, Jim held his breath.

“I love you,” Spock whispered. “I’m sorry I could never say this before.”

Finally, Jim breathed out. “You never had to, Spock.” He stroked through his black hair and over a rounded ear. “I’ve always known.”

“How? Don’t humans need to be told this? I was never able…”

“Yes,” Jim admitted. “But you did tell me, without using words. Every day, in fact.” When Spock didn’t reply, he continued, “You told me by waking up next to me, by watching over me on missions. By making sure I was eating enough and sleeping enough. By playing chess with me. By letting me talk to you about things that troubled me. By letting me love you. You know you’re telling me right now, too?”

Spock shook his head, lost for words. Finally, he said, “Humans are fascinating.”

Jim laughed. “And annoying, and emotional, and illogical. But once we fall in love, forget it.” He slid his arm from beneath Spock and turned on his side. Jim’s hand landed on Spock’s cheek and his fingertips gently slid down, cupping beneath his chin and carefully pushing it up. Leaning in slowly, Jim pressed his lips softly to Spock’s.

The kiss broke after several seconds and Jim’s hand trailed back up along Spock’s jawline, then up into his hair. He pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose. “I love you, Spock. That’s never going to change.”

There was so much uncertainty now, so much that Spock needed to become accustomed to and accept. It was highly probable that his Vulcan DNA couldn’t be successfully reintegrated, and that he’d need to live out the rest of his life as the one thing he’d fought so hard to escape.

But out of all of the ambiguity surrounding Spock now, there was one thing that remained constant and one fact that remained clear. He reached for Jim’s arm and tightly squeezed it. No matter what the outcome, he would be okay.

As long as Jim was with him, everything would turn out fine.

And it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Disclaimer just to say I know that this plot was definitely the fiction in science fiction. Quantum mechanics says hell no to this kind of transporter accident, but Trek has taken great liberties with this and I decided to bend the rules too.
> 
> I was going to make this a longer fic, but I just don't have the time. So, if you're interested in how I imagined this happening... The landing party is beaming up in a hurry. There's a lot of interference and Scotty can only take one of them at a time. Spock is the last and when the lock is established, a surge of radiation batters his pattern and corrupts it. He rematerializes as fully human with his Vulcan DNA failing to reintegrate. It remains trapped in the buffer instead.
> 
> It's scientifically impossible, but Jim was split into two personalities and B'Elanna had her Klingon and human genes divided to create two different people among other examples...so I just was like eh, fuck it and went with it. lol


	44. Where We Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Could I request a super fluffy sick Jim refusing to leave the bridge with Spock desperately trying to get him back to his quarters because he needs to rest and get better?"
> 
> This is domestic fluff nonsense, basically lmao

**Where We Belong**

A broken exhale forced its way out of Jim’s lips as he tightly gripped the armrests of his chair. He swallowed hard and pushed his rigid spine against the seatback, focusing intently on the main viewscreen; there was nothing unusual out there—nothing but darkness flecked with dim points of starlight. For once, space was the last thing on his mind.

‘ _Focus_ ,’ Jim told himself. ‘ _Keep it together._ ’

Around him, the bridge crew busied themselves with their individual tasks, sometimes making small talk with each other to fill in for the recent lack of action; the Enterprise was en route to its next survey location and the last several days had been more than a little monotonous. Fortunately for Jim, that meant there’d been nothing of significance for anyone to report during this shift.

No one had approached him within the last half hour while his condition deteriorated, and Jim believed his mounting suffering had gone unnoticed. It was the only hint of comfort he could find now, acknowledging that in the very least, his fitness for command wasn’t up for debate.

His breaths fell short and silent, his knuckles turning white hot from the force with which his hands clenched. The artificial lighting was too bright, the frequent chimes and feedback from equipment somehow amplifying in volume and making his stomach turn. Jim’s brow tensed and his toes curled in his boots.

“Oh, Pavel!” Sulu said suddenly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

Those words were tangible; Jim could feel each one needling at his head and boring into his skull. His eyes involuntarily snapped shut and he squeezed them tightly, and then even tighter. If only he’d done something when the symptoms first emerged…if only he hadn’t been so needlessly stubborn to remain here reviewing reports on his PADD, as if the outcome would be any different this time…

After all of the migraines Jim had endured over his life, it was obvious that this one wouldn’t just go away without some kind of treatment. But as usual, he’d hoped the pain would simply dissipate or at least lessen while perusing the latest engineering efficiency statistics.

The PADD he’d used to do that presently rested on his lap, and had gone untouched for several minutes. When would he ever learn?

Chekov’s laugh was by no means loud or obnoxious, but it was that sound which finally made the situation unbearable. Jim opened his eyes, inhaled and exhaled rapidly several times, and then braced himself as he intended to shove his body out of his chair and make a prompt exit from the bridge. He stopped right when he slid to the edge of the seat, however, finding Spock was descending the front stairs.

Gathering every bit of strength within him, Jim held his breath and then put on his best professional face while his first officer silently approached.

When he arrived at Jim’s side, Spock didn’t look at him. His hands folded behind his back as he turned to face the main viewer, and then he slightly leaned in. “Captain.” Spock’s words were barely audible. With his attention still on the screen, he continued, “May I speak with you privately?”

“Yes,” Jim breathed and hauled himself up. The excruciating pressure in his head was more apparent than the weight of the PADD on his lap, and as he clumsily got on his feet, the forgotten device fell to the floor with a slap. All eyes temporarily shifted to the center of the bridge.

With dignity to preserve, Jim beat Spock to squatting to retrieve the PADD. The change in position made him dizzy and more nauseous as his temples throbbed, but he would be damned if he’d compromise his reputation in front of his crew. Jim placed the device on the side console of his chair, then pushed his chest out and lifted his chin. “Uhura,” he managed in an unaffected voice, “take the conn.”

“Aye, Sir.”

With that, Jim swiftly strode up to the lift, waving his hand before the sensor and calling it. Spock followed without a sound and remained perfectly still beside him.

‘ _Hurry_ ,’ Jim silently demanded, and then stood with his eyes closed and brow furrowed.

He couldn’t afford to look at Spock right now. Jim knew from experience that if their eyes met, the immense pain he was enduring would be obvious; in fact, he was certain it already was apparent and that Spock’s detection of it had been the reason for his request for private conversation. However, as they were still on the bridge, they both needed to remain unaffected and establishing eye contact would only make that more difficult.

Jim swallowed hard and clenched his hands.

It was no secret that he was tough as hell and just as obstinate; he could keep himself looking and acting fit for duty in front of anyone—even McCoy. Yet, Jim hadn’t been able to conceal any ailments from Spock after a certain point in time. He could only assume it came with the territory of sharing a bed with someone for so long.

The doors finally split and without a moment’s delay, Jim stepped onto the platform. Spock ghosted in beside him while Jim’s hand gripped the lever. He cleared his throat before commanding, “Deck five.”

It took those doors only three seconds to shut, but those seconds could have been three minutes for all Jim knew. As soon as his privacy was granted, he groaned and grabbed his head, squeezed his eyes together and panted through gritted teeth. Through his heaving, Jim heard Spock telling the lift to pause its descent and all movement ceased.

“Jim,” Spock whispered.

Cracking one eye open with baited breath, Jim turned toward the wall and braced himself against it. “Migraine,” he rasped, and then let his head fall as he finally exhaled.

Jim’s shoulders rose and fell as he gulped air, trying to make his pain manageable so he could at least make it to his quarters for a hypo. A hand fell on one shoulder and waited for a protest that never came before it gently coaxed Jim’s body to the side. Now facing Spock’s chest, Jim reached out and took a fistful of his blue uniform.

Spock snaked an arm behind Jim and then drew his head unto him. His hand caressed through blond locks gently and though Spock’s voice was soft, Jim could still hear the rumbling of it from within his chest. “Allow me.”

A single nod was all it took for fingertips to fall in place over Jim’s psi points, and the divine feeling of utter comfort began washing his anguish away in waves. The hand that had clenched to Spock’s shirt gradually released its grasp and Jim’s breathing slowed. He remained with the side of his face pressed against Spock for a few moments, reveling in the utter relief before his lashes fluttered open.

The light was no longer harsh, his ears no longer sensitive. His nausea had disappeared, and now that he felt well again, he also felt strange.

Jim had always been the one to look after others and put them first, so much that forever assuming the role of the giver had become part of his character. It was a curious sensation now to find that role reversed with himself pulled into Spock’s embrace like this. Suddenly uncomfortable with the attention, he gently began to push back, but found himself held tightly where he was.

“Spock,” Jim said quietly. “Thank you.” He felt a hand stroke through his hair one more time before he was released. Neither moved away, however, as they remained standing with their chests touching.

“You require rest,” Spock said.

Jim shook his head and gazed at where his cheek had just been. “I should go back to the bridge.”

“Jim.” Upon hearing his name, Jim’s eyes raised to find Spock’s regarding him with the look he only received when they were alone. Dark brows raised as Spock dipped his chin in a nod. “Rest. One hour and twenty-four minutes remain of this shift. I will handle it.”

The logic was sound; after all, Spock had only shielded Jim’s mind from perceiving pain. It was dangerous to leave the barrier in place, considering that he could wind up hurting himself without realizing it. Blocking the ailments wouldn’t cure the condition, either, and therefore, Jim relented once more.

Spock took the lever and stepped back, but before he commanded the lift to move again, he let his other hand trail down Jim’s arm.

Wordlessly, they walked down the corridor and both disappeared into the captain’s quarters. Jim went directly to the sleeping alcove and freed himself from his shirt. His fingers began undoing the zipper on his trousers when Spock approached with a hypo.

“Thanks,” Jim offered, stopping his movements to allow the contents to be injected in his arm.

“There is no need.” Spock deposited the empty syringe in the proper receptacle and then returned to where Jim stood in nothing but his briefs. He was folding his trousers, so Spock reached for the gold tunic and did the same to save Jim the extra step. As he did that, he added, “I would request, however, that next time you do not deprive yourself of necessary medical attention.”

Jim’s lips formed a small smile and he glanced down to the floor before his eyes found Spock’s again. “ _You’re_ lecturing _me_ about that?” he demanded playfully, taking both garments and setting them aside on the nearby ledge. “After you avoid sickbay like the plague?”

“The captain’s life is precious,” Spock replied matter-of-factly, pulling the covers back. When he straightened his spine, two arms were placed loosely over his shoulders and about his neck.

Jim’s gaze fell to Spock’s mouth and his brows pulled in for just a moment before he whispered, “Are you saying the first officer’s isn’t?”

Spock closed his eyes and barely shook his head, then opened them again. With an inhale, he admitted, “It had not been my intention.”

“Good.” Their lips met in a soft kiss which lingered before they slowly pulled apart.

“I must return to the bridge,” Spock said. “And you, Captain, must rest and recover.”

Jim hummed and drew his arms away as he lowered to the bed. He slid his feet beneath the blanket, but remained sitting. “What are you doing when the shift ends? Working in the lab?”

“On the contrary.” Spock pulled the cover up to Jim’s waist. “In one hour and fifteen minutes, I shall return here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Indeed.”

“Only if you can.” Jim nodded. “And you want to, of course. I’d really like that.”

“Recall one time I have ever desired to not be near you.” Spock raised his hand and settled his fingertips over Jim’s psi points once more. “As expected, you cannot.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Are you prepared? I suspect the medication has begun working, but it is likely you will experience some pain once the shield is removed.”

“Mm,” Jim agreed. He looked up and called, “Computer, lights at fifteen percent.”

As the space dimmed, he felt a dull ache begin to resurface in his head, but it was nowhere near comparable to the insufferable agony that had assaulted him previously. Taking a breath, Jim laid back against his pillow and felt Spock follow him down. When deft Vulcan fingers caressed over his cheek, Jim felt lips pressing against his own again briefly before Spock pulled away.

“Sleep. I shall return shortly.”

Jim’s mouth pulled upward into a lazy grin and he closed his eyes. Though he wouldn’t admit it, the sound of Spock’s footsteps walking away from him left him feeling awfully bereft. Once the door swished shut, he reached for a pillow that didn’t belong to him and mumbled into it. “I love being near you, too.”

Holding it tightly, Jim pressed his face against the soft fabric and inhaled the familiar scent that reminded him of cinnamon, of Vulcan, of home. It comforted him, lulled him into a sleep that cured his migraine completely.

Jim had been in the middle of a dream that was much too sweet when he felt something soft brushing over his forehead. His eyes fluttered open to find Spock sitting beside him and stroking his brow.

“Do you still feel pain?”

It took a moment for Jim to realize he was no longer dreaming. Reaching up, he took Spock’s hand and brought it his mouth. Pursing his lips against it, he quietly thanked the stars for giving him this precious gift. Against Spock’s fingertips, he whispered, “Only when you’re not with me.”

“I shall endeavor to always be, then.”

All Jim could do was close his eyes for that moment and smile. He would have it no other way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3333


	45. Meant to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [haywoood](http://haywoood.tumblr.com) made an amazing Spirk playlist called _[Gee, I really love you](http://8tracks.com/haywoood/gee-i-really-love-you)_ that had me thinking about Jim and Spock as newlyweds, so I wrote this. The fluff is extreme and metaphors to modern day marriage are many. Blame [Elvis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGJTaP6anOU) and this [instrumental version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIma_FhKLZU).

**Meant to Be**

_There’s a custom on Earth, you know…after people marry._

An old song permeated an ivory room.

Spock held his breath. Soft shadows from candles flickering in the dim light crossed the enamored expression Jim wore as he slowly approached. The ardor in those very human eyes had wrapped Spock in warm ribbons of affection on countless occasions prior to this night, but there was something different about them now—something deeper and more meaningful that made the heart in his side begin to pound.

The bond, though new and strong, was temporarily closed between them. It’d been a mutually agreed on decision for Spock to shield while they made the short trip back to the hotel from the Vulcan Embassy. A recently forged link between bondmates was a sacred treasure to be explored and savored in total privacy, not before even the audience of a healer and certainly not on a crowded street.

However, now that they were finally alone, Spock experienced a strange reluctance to reopen it. He’d already known that a betrothal link was vastly different; it made melding during times of intimacy easy as the minds reached for each other, but never required the baring of one’s entire soul. Marriage bonds, by contrast, revealed all. And with a past marred by two warring sides, Spock suddenly wasn’t entirely sure of how his nakedness would be received.

In silence, Jim stepped up to him so that their chests barely touched; he’d clearly ascertained Spock’s hesitance through body language and had proposed an alternative for the meantime.

“Jim,” Spock whispered with the inner ends of his brows lifting slightly. He swallowed and barely shook his head. “I do not know how—”

“Shh.” Fingertips pressed tenderly to Spock’s lips long enough to stop them from moving, and then slipped away. “It’s okay.”

Spock watched as Jim’s long lashes became more prominent when his eyes fell half-lidded and wandered downward. Jim cocked his head and softly took Spock’s hand, guiding it to his hip and pressing upon it so that it would remain there. He then slipped his arm under Spock’s and across his back, drawing him close enough for his lips to press against Spock’s shoulder.

Jim tightly entwined the fingers of their free hands, pressed their palms together, and raised them to settle against the dark fabric of the robe covering Spock’s chest. At last, he lifted his face. His gaze trailed up, pausing briefly on Spock’s mouth, before their eyes met.

Held closely, Spock began to sway when Jim did and their feet dragged along the soft carpet as they slowly turned in small circles while the song played. It was customary on Earth for spouses to share a first dance after their union. For Spock, it doubled as extra time to mentally prepare himself.

Spock’s lips parted and he stared back at Jim without blinking, frozen by the totality of adoration he perceived in the way Jim looked at him and from where their hands touched. The bond warmed in his mind, grasping and yearning for completion with its other half. Its desire was resolute enough to coax Spock into lowering part of the shield that would allow him to receive Jim’s thoughts without transmitting his own.

The barrier slowly fell.

Onslaught of strong emotion had never been a positive experience for Spock, but this sensation was different than any other that he’d experienced before. Uncensored, Jim’s love was all-encompassing and overwhelming, comparable to being dropped in the middle of a fathomless ocean and sinking further and further from the surface. The bond swept away any peril from this experience; through Jim’s lips, Spock could breathe, and through Jim’s eyes, he could see.

And for the first time, Spock saw a side to himself that he’d never seen before. Over the years of their romantic association, he’d tried and failed to identify why he—an undesirable half-breed who could never fit in anywhere—had been the one James Kirk chose.

Now, the answer finally presented itself in this moment with the receipt of his thoughts and feelings.

_Darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be…_

Spock’s spine straightened and his lips nearly quivered as he breathed out.

Jim’s brows pulled in for a moment, intentionally taking on a stiff expression to make fun and lighten the moment. He pursed his lips and softly whispered, “So serious.” His mouth immediately eased into a soft smile after and he leaned in to press his forehead against Spock’s jaw, continuing to gently rock them to the melody.

By now, they’d completed many circles but Spock had been so taken with the emotions coursing into him from Jim’s side of their bond that, for once, he hadn’t focused on counting or metrics—or even logic.

The feeling of being lost without logic had always been a terrifying notion to Spock, but now, there was no concern or despair; in fact, he believed he’d never been more found before this moment. So, Spock simply closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in his husband’s blond hair, allowing Jim to lead him closer and closer to him.

They’d joined in what was essentially the Vulcan way, but it was done privately and with very little tradition involved. Only a healer had been present to consummate their betrothal bond. Innumerable skeins of silver drawn from the mind, heart, and soul were wound and tied between, constructing and fortifying a link that only the two of them could ever cross—a bridge.

A bridge to stargaze and dream on, to talk quietly on and toss flower petals over. A bridge to kiss on, to cry on, to love on, to hold and be held on. A bridge to find comfort and companionship on—to ensure neither would be by himself ever again.

Like this, they could be one, created from the blending of Vulcan and Earth, of Spock and Jim, of blue and gold. And when the lines of individuality blurred, nothing could separate them. Jim would know Spock’s thoughts, just as Spock had known Jim’s. And though Jim had known Spock loved him, perhaps he’d never been aware of just how much.

Spock was now ready to tell him, to properly embrace his bondmate in the only part of the universe that truly belonged to them. The remaining shield dropped and with this offering, Spock finally emerged to meet Jim in the middle.

The movement of their bodies immediately stopped. Jim’s fingers tightened on Spock’s hand and a choppy exhale forced out from between his lips. Like this, they stood completely still, each holding his breath as if it would preserve the moment in time forever.

Time passed.

Spock’s lashes parted slowly, reality setting in little-by-little. “Jim,” he finally breathed, breaking the silence. When there was no reply, he tried again. “Jim…the song has finished.”

Jim exhaled, then let his fingers slightly relax. He pulled Spock’s hand to his chest, but made no other move.

_I apologize, Jim. I could never speak of it openly._

Spock felt Jim’s arm unraveling from around him then, felt the warmth of Jim’s hand relocating to extend across an ear and cup the side of his head. At last, Jim raised his chin and their eyes met. They alone spoke depths to Spock, but he needed to hear more…needed to be convinced that Jim really understood what he was saying. Spock gravitated forward, leaning in until only a small space separate their lips and Jim’s soft breaths spilled over his face.

_Can you understand? Can you understand how much—_

Jim’s mouth opened and he forced a strong huff out. His brows pulled up and he shook his head, and finally lurched forward.

Their lips met and parted, then met again and remained locked. The hands that had remained tightly clasped together pulled free and Jim’s arms wrapped about Spock’s neck and shoulders, as Spock’s own crossed behind Jim’s back to pull him even closer. They kissed until they couldn’t kiss anymore, until they both were trembling and heaving for air with Spock’s cheek pressed against Jim’s temple.

“Bed,” Jim rasped, just before their mouths met again. They both stumbled across the luxurious hotel room, fumbling with robe clasps and suit buttons.

When Spock fell against the mattress with Jim on top of him…when he tilted his head back to receive a barrage of kisses against his neck, he silently affirmed that he finally knew the answer to all of the questions and uncertainties that had plagued him for too long.

The answer was that there _was_ no logical answer…that when it came to loving and being loved in return, there was no mathematical equation to explain what the heart wanted most.

Some things were simply meant to be. For Spock, there was no other place for him than at Jim’s side and no other place for Jim than at Spock’s. And that’s how they lived, as two bodies joined by one heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3333


	46. Tapestry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like writing something with heavy poetic imagery, so I wrote this to make myself happy. I'm sorry if it's too weird or doesn't make sense or doesn't fit them. It's about the seconds Spock experiences leading up to their first kiss, inspired by the [red string of fate](http://www.faena.com/aleph/articles/the-legend-of-the-red-string-of-japan/) and written to the instrumental version of [Faded](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rmtx9slmodw).

**Tapestry**

A living portrait of cosmic glamor, Spock thinks. Butterfly wing eyelashes and black holes with whiskey diamond halos. Portals to another universe, a different universe: a universe named Jim Kirk.

Gravity captures the phantom red string tied about Spock’s pinky, draws him toward onyx wells fated in stardust ink to drown him. The canvas work nears completion. Tonight, he will succumb to what he spent a lifetime contending–will stand upon the horizon of eternity, let his eyes close, and fall headfirst into the darkness.

Caress breaks the silence like dawn overtaking night, breathes unspoken words of beauty and affection and forever from Jim’s unmoving lips; they spill across Spock’s with the prickling scent of mint.

Vulcan legend penned on ancient parchment told of a paladin, of celestial hands cupped and holding the universe like treasure. Now, human palms cradle his face with thumbs gracing over his cheeks as they would that venerable scroll.

Treasure _._

_Treasure_.

The word leaves Spock breathless. Their noses touch. His lashes fall. And finally, after standing on a frayed edge of bleeding emotion for so long, he plunges into the unknown.

Heartbeat pounds deep reverberations through Spock’s ears, pulsing ripples across the plaster prison thickened over decades and fracturing a surface once deemed unbreakable. Calcified soot sheds from his soul in layers, leaving luminescent blue tendrils of glittering stellar fabric unraveling in its wake–an exodus of suffocating memories carried with him like a curse of thorns tangled about his ankles. They’re the lasting remnants of rejection and isolation, of hushed whispers and echoing criticism, of implied insufficiency, of assumed inadequacy, of Vulcan, of Earth, of being too much of both and yet never enough of each.

And yet, with the undoing of these stitches, Spock finds that he is still Spock–that none of the chaotic needlework stapled to his soul by others defines him or governs him or speaks the true story of who he is.

The last coil unravels from his ankle and a navy ocean of glowing stars breaks his fall. He plummets naked into the mercy of fathoms devoid of atmosphere.

The red string pulls and soft human lips press to Spock’s. A supernova detonates upon the galactic tapestry.

For the first time in years, Spock breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol well, that was fun. I'd say I'm happy I wrote something short, but it took a long time. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Thanks for reading! <3


	47. Life Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #chaotic evil strikes again
> 
> Prompt: "can you write Spock comforting Jim? OMS would be nice as well :)"
> 
> This is the first and probably only time i'll ever write 2nd person POV. I originally had it in 3rd but it just made more sense for me to write through Spock's thoughts for what I was trying to say. Anyway, here's wonderwall.
> 
> This takes place in TWOK, after Spock gives Jim A Tale of Two Cities and before the fateful mission.

**Life Support**

The warm smile fades. “Where are you off to now?” you ask, with _A Tale of Two Cities_ held to your chest.

“The Enterprise.” I incline my chin. “I must check in before your inspection.” One day remains before I will invite you on the ship that was our home for many years. Everything must be perfect. “And you?”

You exhale. Your eyes soften.

Your mouth twitches and your gaze falls from mine.

A small huff. “Home.”

The word, though spoken quietly, sounds like a curse. When you turn and walk off, I close my eyes.

~

You will not tell me. I know this much. But even when you say nothing, I hear you. Your silence is a shout that speaks louder than your lips ever could.

It echoes.

A vase filled with roses sits upon a mahogany table for two—our table, beside the kitchen. Another red petal falls on the runner to join the others that served as your company on the mornings and evenings of this week. Did you speak to them of your day? Did you tell them of your latest altercation with Admiral Nogura? Did you place a cup of tea before them and hope they would drink?

There is a Terran proverb that prompts these inquiries. _Old habits die hard_.

“Computer, spiced tea,” you say to the synthesizer, while I sit in the quiet of our condominium…a space I have not inhabited for seven Earth days.

The oldest petals that fell to the table have dried out. These roses were not for you. I know this.

“Here.” The scent of jasmine, orange, and cloves arrives before you even place the cup down. A half-smile pulls at your mouth and then you inhale, quickly look up and over to the large windows. The night is young, somewhere. “I think I’ll…” You purse your lips. “I’ll go sit outside.” …for a cigar and scotch on the balcony, you do not add.

I nod and remain seated, watching as you drift to the small bar—as your hand falls on the bottle of Romulan Ale Doctor McCoy presented to you earlier. You pause in contemplation before your fingers slip to a more familiar choice next to it: Glenfiddich, aged over decades. Two ice cubes are dropped in a glass, and leather-hued liquid spills over them. You pick up your new pair of glasses, your drink, and _A Tale of Two Cities_. Then, you leave without a word.

I hear everything you do not say and look back to the vase of wilting flowers. You will not tell me that you purchased them for me, and I will not say that I know you did. However, the petals on the table range from sanguine to brown and they are the only indication I need to confirm that fact. They were acquired seven days ago, right before I was summoned to the stars on an emergency mission. I left before you could present them to me.

Though it is illogical, I harbor regret for this. It was not the first time I was obligated to depart in a hurry, nor will it be the last.

It is to be expected, after all. My current assignment is in the venue of space, providing training simulations for Starfleet cadets on the Enterprise. Your ship. _Our_ ship. Or what once was both yours and mine. I prefer to believe that it still is, that we will both serve aboard her again with you as captain and I as your second in command.

Starfleet policy will not separate married couples in the service. Separation, to headquarters, is defined by time and distance. By this rule, deep space is far, and a vessel in orbit of Earth is not. Yet, while your feet are mostly on the ground and mine are mostly aboard the Enterprise—while I am gone for days at a time and you sit behind a desk when the universe demands you sit in a command chair instead—the distance in your eyes indicates I may as well be on my own five-year mission, far in the alpha quadrant.

Another petal falls. The tea has grown lukewarm. I do not have the desire to consume it, but you made it for me and for that reason, it is meaningful enough to drink. I question if you know that, how grateful I am to you.

You were the one who helped me in ways I cannot articulate and provided me with things I never thought I could ever have: somewhere to belong, a bed to share, a place of solace in my mind. In a sense, you saved me when I had not known I was even lost, and someday, I wish to do for you what you have done for me.

As I sip, I wonder why _someday_ cannot be today.

~

You insisted on a hot water shower to soothe the tight muscles in my back. Water is a precious resource, especially on a desert world such as Vulcan. However, tonight I heeded your advice without argument. You were correct, Jim. It is infinitely more soothing than the sonics and a pleasing indulgence to be rarely had. You know me better than I do myself at times.

And I know you.

I stand beneath the falling water, hands braced against the porcelain, head bowed, eyes closed.

You will not tell me. Because you are proud. Because you are as responsible as you are stubborn. Because you are a giver and a provider and always the strong one. Because you are the hero who protects, and not the victim needing two strong arms to carry you to safety. Because if you could easily say it, you would not be Jim Kirk.

But I know.

I recall the time we sat on the observation deck together aboard the Enterprise so many years ago. You told me why Ambassador Tahra nicknamed you sunshine. I wanted to say that I agreed, that your smile and your presence would bring warmth and light and love to even the darkest of places. Instead, I simply raised a brow. You gifted me with all of those things once more when your lips pulled out to your cheeks in response.

Now, it appears that a permanent eclipse has set in.

“Take her, Spock. Please,” you said on the conclusion of our second five-year mission, when the admiralty denied you a third. “If there’s anyone who I trust being in command of the Enterprise, it’s you. _Take_ her.”

I find myself wondering how much you regret those words, every time you simultaneously smile and never smile. And no one knows any better to tell the difference, except me.

You still think like a commanding officer, that you cannot be anything less than perfect in the eyes of everyone around you. You still believe that you cannot put yourself first, that you cannot let others know you are in pain or need something more.

But Jim, though I commend your talent for shielding, I do not need the bond to recognize it. I can tell by the way you look, by the way you force what used to come so naturally to you.

I can tell by the darkness of the room.

~

In a fresh robe, I walk out of the bedroom but stop abruptly in the doorway. You sit at the table with a PADD in front of you. The screen is dark. Your eyes are fixated on the empty chair across from you. They suddenly lift to find me and we each jolt back into movement.

“Hey,” you say quietly with a soft grin as I approach halfway. “I was just—” Your fingers tap the PADD back to life. “Just catching up on some work. How was the shower?”

“It was as refreshing as you said it would be. The soreness in my back has eased.”

“Good.” You nod and look down to the device, then swallow. Your brows pull in slightly. “Well, time for bed.”

In another place and time, you would ask if I was joining you. Now, you simply walk by, lifting your face to offer the same spurious smile you have been smiling for months. I nearly reach out to take your arm, but I do not.

It would be too dramatic, too emotional for either of us. You once said relations with a logical Vulcan was both an art and a science, but I can say the same of you, Admiral Kirk. For as surely as I strengthen my shields when someone tries to break them, you do the same when you believe you look weak.

I turn on my heels and follow you into the bedroom. We begin to disrobe in silence, but when you reach to pull the bottom of your shirt up, you pause and then disappear into the bathroom. The door swishes closed behind you and locks.

You will not tell me, but I already know. Humans need validation. How can I provide that if I am barely present here?

I exhale through my nose and pull the clasp open. My robe slips off, leaving me in black thermals. I fold the garment, and draw the sheets back. They smell like you. That means they smell like home, too. There is no place I would rather be.

~

The bedroom is silent, long after you lie down on your side. I recall a time when you would dive on the mattress and throw your arms around me. We would fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other.

I turn my head against the pillow and see you staring vacantly at the ceiling. Perhaps it is time to reverse the roles.

“Jim,” I whisper, so quietly you do not hear. I try again. “Jim.”

Your face falls to the side and your brow furrows. “Are you all right?” Concern is present in your voice.

I swallow and turn on my side. We stare at each other for several moments before I reach across the sheet to touch your arm. “We have something to discuss.”

You do not reply right away. You simply continue to look at me, wondering if you really want to know what will come next. At last, you concede. “All right.” Your tongue wets your lips. “What is it?”

“I have decided to resign my present commission.”

You blink, and then blink again. Your lips purse and your brows knit down. The time for whispering is over. “I’m sorry… _what_?”

“After the conclusion of this next training mission, I will resign my command.”

You launch yourself on your side, supporting your torso by your elbow and forearm. You shake your head. “Why? Why would you—”

“I desire to be closer to you.”

You fall silent again.

“If Starfleet Command will not grant you another exploratory mission, then I do not wish to be in space without you, Jim. It is as simple as that.”

“Spock, I…” Your words hang as you let your eyes fall to the sheet. You lick your lips again and swallow. “What about your career?”

“Like you, I am versatile. I am capable of being productive to Starfleet in many ways, and not all of them involve serving aboard a starship.”

You search my face but I see a glint of familiar light return to your eyes. “Look, Spock, I’m fine here.”

Typical. I expected such a response. Naturally, I have a suitable reply.

“I did not say you were not. What I said was that I wished to be near you.”

“I guess…” You clear your throat and your eyes fall to your hand on the sheet before raising back to mine. “I’m just surprised. I never expected you to say that.”

“I accepted this position because of Saavik. As her sponsor, I had the obligation to mentor her and monitor her progress. This next mission will be the final one before her graduation.” I raise my brow. “Now that I have the liberty to decide my role without that obligation, I choose to remain planet-side. With you.”

In contemplation, you do not reply.

“…That is, if you would have me,” I add.

Ah, there it is: that smile. It is brief, but the fact that it existed even for a second means everything.

“I’ll think about it,” you say playfully and reach for me. We both move toward the center of the bed, until our foreheads touch. Your fingers land upon my cheek and stroke, and I lean in to press my lips to yours. It is a chaste kiss, a gentle kiss.

But that kiss brings with it a promise for a better tomorrow for both of us.

You will not tell me—just as you wouldn’t say you were lonely and feeling old, feeling displaced and wondering if the life you lead is fulfilling enough. However, I know that this decision makes you happy.

Likewise, I will not say I love you. But you know that I do, Jim—so much.

And as we sleep like this tonight, we can both find comfort in the fact that neither of us will be alone ever again.

~

“ _Do not grieve, Admiral._ ”

I do not break promises.

“ _It is logical._ ”

And as a Vulcan, I do not lie.

“ _The needs of the many, outweigh—_ ”

However, sometimes, things do not go as planned.

“ _The needs of the few…_ ”

But as you saved me, Jim

“ _…or the one._ ”

I am now saving you.

“ _I have been…and ever shall be yours._ ”

My life began when you breathed it into my lips.

“ _Live long…_ ”

And here, it ends with me breathing back into yours.

“… _and prosper_.”

It was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3 This was kind of personal and I hope I didn't self-project too much on Jim. whoops


	48. Loving a Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: End of five year mission breakup.  
> Freeverse angst from Jim's POV. Someone please love him.

**Loving a Void**

The legs holding me up were broken  
But I’m standing before you now  
With the glittered twilight of the stars reflecting  
off the rivers washing down  
my cheeks along with those words  
damned long ago to be incarcerated  
that spilled in moments somehow.  
Close enough to feel your breath  
To draw the flavor of poison  
with my own lips  
Cupping your face with the blooming of my fingertips  
across your cheeks but yet  
Like a crocus’ life in winter’s depth,  
Short-lived, my hands upon your frigid flesh

You were perfect and it was worth it  
The sacrifice it hurt, yeah  
You were perfect and it was worth it  
The emptying of this sky, yeah

And I’m not so easily broken  
Forever was what I told you  
You were perfect and it was worth it  
Yeah.

The words like mockingbirds broke out from the cage,  
released into the wild but that freedom  
came at a price of the irreplaceable and I paid  
Crashed down against the ground and I  
held myself against you without a sound–  
Until now, with my flailing arms  
desperately thrown around  
your chest, wrapping around a void  
Talons bared, tearing through nothing  
as razor nails slid down  
But these regulation boots will tread the night  
because in that chasm of logic splitting your soul  
humanity was what I found.

You were perfect and it was worth it  
The sacrifice it hurt, yeah  
You were perfect and it was worth it  
The emptying of this sky, yeah

And I’m not so easily broken  
Forever was what I told you  
You were perfect and it was worth it  
All worth it.  
Yeah.

Because you’re still perfect  
because you’re still worth it  
because you’re rife with purpose, with virtue.  
And my shoulder will never turn away from  
what I vowed, what I committed myself to  
Eyelashes laced against the silence you offered  
in reply–and so my life unravels and the freedom,  
it dies  
but this Terran’s too far gone behind  
enemy lines with finding tears  
spilling from my honeyed eyes.  
Knees giving way before you, along with my pride  
as the words pour again:

You were mine.  
And you were perfect and it was worth it  
Though your sacrifice it hurts, yeah  
Because you were perfect and it was worth it  
Though the stars burned out their lights, yeah

And I’m not so easily broken  
Forever was what I told you  
You were perfect but it was worth it  
All worth it,  
for you.  
Yeah

Braced against the window, I stare at the stars  
because forever was what I told you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I used to write poetry all the time at one point and this is the first I've done in several years.


	49. A Conference Named Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya~ I'm not sure how much overlap I have in fandom buddies between AO3 and tumblr. In case we're not connected there, I sorta fell off the face of the writing world because I was going through hell. lmfao That's the tl;dr version. But anyways, I'm doing much better and hopefully I can write some new things for anyone who likes my work, start reading again, and just be a productive member of fandom once more.
> 
> Anyways, that being said. I reblogged a prompt thingy on tumblr which is meant for artists but I never follow rules, so here we are. I got [prompt 1B](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com/post/155362838461/soupery-a-softer-sequel-to-this-please-dont), which is a cuddle/hug if you don't feel like clicking that link.

**A Conference Named Eternity**

There was once a time when nothing could have distracted Spock from his work. He’d kept himself focused and productive in even the most chaotic of environments–under pressure, under scrutiny, under the cacophony of humans shouting and cavorting about.

Now, however, he couldn’t resist an immediate shift in attention from his PADD when the sound of a door swish broke the silence.

Spock had set the lights on dim in the captain’s quarters; he preferred darker surroundings to the offense of bright illumination, which reminded him too much of the arid Shi’Kahr desert at high noon. That preference caused an incandescent glow from the corridor to spill inward and stretch across the floor, its stark aura betrayed only by the dark outline of a figure approaching from the doorway.

He was immediately on his feet–abandoning the PADD and his work without a second thought–and stepping forward. Spock’s hands lifted up and out while the entrance slid shut, and the chasm of empty space between his arms was immediately filled by Jim.

There was no spoken word, only a soft smile that pulled gently at the corners of Jim’s lips as he closed his eyes and fell into the waiting embrace. He pulled Spock tightly to him, nuzzled his shoulder, and inhaled deeply.

“I trust…” Spock began in a whisper as the fingertips of his right hand trailed up Jim’s spine and continued to rise until they entangled with golden hair. “…your subspace conference with Admiral Komack went well.”

A tiny groan left Jim’s mouth as it pursed against Spock’s blue tunic in a kiss. “I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured.

Spock hadn’t expected that reply; Jim’s body language was perpetually obvious when a conversation with Komack hadn’t gone well, and his present affection was betraying such an answer. “Then…there is unfortunate news to report?”

“No…” Jim trailed off and lifted his chin. His lashes fluttered and there was a flash of white when he smiled widely enough to show his top teeth. “I was just away from you for too long.”

Rocking up onto his tiptoes, Jim pressed his lips against Spock’s before he could reply. Chaste but rife with feeling, their mouths remained that way until Spock’s eyelashes parted halfway when Jim lowered back to his heels.

“Jim…” A pause. “…The conference was only twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds.”

Jim’s brows pulled inward. “Only twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds?”

Spock dipped his head in a nod.

“I never knew that could be such a long time.” It was a matter-of-fact reply that caused Spock’s heart to flutter.

Human fingers filled the spaces between Vulcan ones, pulling gently and leading Spock toward the sleeping alcove. The screen of his PADD had already dimmed and that’s how it would remain for the rest of ship’s night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to my old fic A Month Named Eternity. Thanks for embarrassing me forever, homie. lolll tbh i just couldn't think of a title for this. #laziness
> 
> Thank you for reading! <333


	50. Cold Nose, Warm Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got [prompt 2C](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com/post/155362838461/soupery-a-softer-sequel-to-this-please-dont), which is Eskimo kissing if you don't feel like clicking that link.

**Cold Nose, Warm Heart**

The warm interior of the shuttlecraft was an indescribable luxury compared to the world they had landed on. Planetary scans had indicated the cold environment, but a sudden shift in weather patterns which left Jim and Spock caught in a snowstorm couldn’t have been so easily predicted.

“Here.” That was all Spock heard before Jim pulled a knitted navy hat over the crown of his head. He closed his eyes as the fabric was stretched over the tips of ears (he was aware without looking that they were bright green), and only parted his lashes again once Jim’s hands slid away.

“Jim, it is–”

Spock’s words were stolen by a blue plaid scarf sailing up into the air and over him, settling softly on the back of his neck.

“Unnecessary?” Jim asked, finishing that thought while gently pulling the sides of the scarf even. A loose knot was tied and he swept his hands over the front of Spock’s heavy coat. “Of course, Mister Spock.”

“Captain, though I do not claim to fully understand human behavior…” Spock’s lips opened when Jim took his right hand and slipped a supple black glove over it. The garment had been warmed–an attribute his fingers indulged in to the fullest. A shiver jolted across Spock’s spine, and this time, it wasn’t due to the cold. “…I believe it is considered rude to patronize.”

“Ah.” Jim hadn’t bothered to look at Spock as he continued his task. The left hand was taken and dressed in the same manner. “I’m glad you’re Vulcan, then.”

Spock raised his chin. His mouth opened and immediately closed. … _Touche, Captain_.

“All right, let’s see.” Jim shuffled a step back to admire his handiwork. “Hat, scarf, gloves… Warm coat, warm boots. I think you’re all good, Spock.”

A dark brow raised. “Indeed, Captain.”

“Except for one last thing…that nose of yours.”

Spock blinked and his gaze fell as a realization dawned upon him. …Jim had once presented him handmade warmers to fit over the tips of his ears. While he could appreciate the sentiment and thought put into the gift, it was unorthodox to don such attire on Vulcan. In the way McCoy had put it when Jim showed them to him later that evening, Spock would look _ridiculous_ walking around with only his ears covered.

Spock’s eyes widened slightly as they raised back to Jim. …Had Jim purchased such a warmer that could be placed over his nose? Would he spend the rest of this away mission with a knitted item attached to the center of his face?

Jim stepped up, cupped Spock’s jaw with both palms, and leaned in. He closed his eyes as he touched their noses together and softly moved his from side to side. The scent of mint spilled over Spock’s lips as Jim huffed a soft laugh. “Sorry, Spock. Not much more I can do about that than this.”

Spock exhaled. “…It is more efficient than you might believe, Jim.”

With his smile growing wider, Jim pushed the tip of Spock’s nose with his own and opened his eyes. “Ready to go back out there?”

“Indeed, Captain,” Spock replied. “So long as I am at your side.”

And that’s where Spock stayed–for much longer than the length of this mission.

[ ](http://mothpuppies.tumblr.com/post/155417217657/for-the-little-kiss-request-meme-pls-write-about)

Art by [mothpuppies](http://mothpuppies.tumblr.com/)!! Thank you so much!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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